There's a Pure-Blood Custom For That
by Lomonaaeren
Summary: HPDM slash. The day Harry stops Malfoy and his son from being bothered in Diagon Alley starts a strange series of interactions between them. Who knew there was a pure-blood custom for every situation?
1. Diagon Alley Rewards

**Title: **There's a Pure-Blood Custom For That

**Disclaimer: **J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.

**Rating: **R

**Warnings: **Partial AU after DH (Draco has Scorpius but is not married to Astoria, Harry is not married to Ginny), some angst, off-screen violence

**Pairings: **Harry/Draco, past Draco/Astoria, Ron/Hermione

**Summary: **The day that Harry stops Draco Malfoy and his son from being bothered in the middle of Diagon Alley starts a strange series of interactions between him and Malfoy. Who knew there was a pure-blood custom for every situation?

**Author's Notes: **A series of loosely chronological, short "chapters" based on silly pure-blood customs, and a developing relationship between Harry and Draco. This is more humor and fluff than anything else, despite the angst warning.

**There's a Pure-Blood Custom For That**

_Diagon Alley Rewards_

"What are _you _doing here?"

Harry sighed and leaned out the front door of George's shop, which he helped manage on the days, like this one, when George felt too bewildered by a world without his twin to get out of bed. That sounded like the voice of Natalia Shwin, who he'd just helped choose a large bag of pranks. She had complained about their poor stock, about the lack of George being there today, about everything except the weather and the prices of the pranks. It made sense that she wouldn't even get three steps from their front stoop when she would find something else to complain about.

But today was a bit unusual, in that she was confronting a fair-haired man and his little boy, clutched by one hand, who had just been walking along the alley. Harry blinked, and looked at Natalia's side. No, the bag of pranks still hung there, undisturbed. Harry shook his head and stepped out of the shop.

"I want an answer!" Natalia snapped, and stepped forwards to face the man, reaching for her wand as she stared at his face. He turned a little, and Harry realized that he was looking at Draco Malfoy.

"I don't need to give you one." Malfoy's voice was low and rough. "I have as much right to walk down the middle of Diagon Alley as—"

"No, you don't!" Natalia had her wand out now.

Harry rolled his eyes. The last thing they needed was an altercation right on the steps. George might think it was great fun if he was here, but Harry wasn't George, and since the war, he really preferred to be at a distance from trouble. It was one of the reasons he hadn't become an Auror.

"_Expelliarmus_," he said, and Natalia's wand soared across the distance between them and landed in his palm. Both she and Malfoy turned to gape at him as Harry came down the steps, shaking his head. "What's wrong with you? The war was ten years ago. Get over it, or leave England."

Natalia clutched her bag of pranks, and didn't say anything. Harry had seen her pull the routine of heartbroken widow on others—although Harry happened to know that her husband had been imprisoned just before the war for crimes that had nothing to do with it—and wail about how much she had lost to the Death Eaters. But even _she _was a little embarrassed to do that in front of the Defeater of Voldemort.

Harry planted his hands on his hips. He didn't use his fame often, but he would definitely use it when it could get him out of trouble, and he did now. "Unless you have something to say to me about the war and how much you suffered," he added.

"No," said Natalia, and glared at Draco. "But Death Eaters shouldn't be walking around free."

"Neither should people who attack other people in the street in front of our shop," said Harry. Malfoy had actually served a year in Azkaban, but Harry saw no reason to go into that with Natalia. She wouldn't listen anyway. "Go away, before I let the Aurors know about you." He tossed her wand at her.

Harry might not have joined them, but there were several Aurors who considered him one of them anyway, and some people who had joined that had life-debts they owed to Harry. One or two would be here in minutes if he sent his Patronus, slavering to arrest someone. Natalia knew it, and moved off with one more sullen glance and one especially saucy swing of her bag of pranks.

"Why did you do that, Potter?"

Harry glanced at Malfoy without much interest. The small boy beside him with one pudgy thumb stuck in his mouth was obviously his son, though he had eyes that were paler than Malfoy's, closer to blue than grey. "Because she was in front of my shop, and causing trouble," Harry said. "And because you've paid any debts that you owe society. Enjoy the rest of the day, Malfoy, Malfoy." He nodded to the boy, whose name he had read in the paper when he was born but didn't remember, and went back to the door.

Malfoy spoke again just as Harry touched the handle. "I haven't paid the life-debts I owe you, however."

Harry rolled his eyes at the sky. He had had enough talk of people owing him and arguing in the paper over whether he owed the wizarding world something, and even of them passionately defending his right to live his life the way he chose. As far as he was concerned, everyone was equal who had survived the war. Harry was here to take care of the people he loved, like George and Molly and even sometimes Ron and Hermione, who had been hurt by the war, and the rest of the wizarding world, he presumed, was doing the same. "I don't want them. I forgive them. I don't care."

There was a loud gasp that didn't sound like Malfoy, and made Harry glance over his shoulder in annoyance. The last thing he needed was someone else wandering into this situation and darting off to the papers. Harry had used a few minor Memory Charms in the past to prevent things like this.

But it was Malfoy's son, who had taken his thumb out of his mouth and was pointing at Harry with it. "Life-debts are _important_," he said. "Daddy said so." He looked up at Malfoy with a worshipful expression that made it clear his world began and ended with "Daddy said so." Well, like Draco, like Lucius, like nameless kid, Harry reckoned.

"Fine," Harry said. "They're important. But I still forgive them." There was a drizzle coming on, the kind of fine, pattering rain that he suspected was building up to a bigger storm. Harry shoved the door open.

"Then you're subject to the pure-blood custom of Equal Reward," Malfoy announced.

Harry leaned his head on the wood of the doorframe. "What are you on about now, Malfoy?" he asked. "Something you invented?"

"Of course not." Harry turned around, because it was becoming increasingly obvious he had to, to find Malfoy at his haughty best, colder than the rain. "It's the pure-blood custom that says someone who saves the current head or heir of a line with no thought of increasing or incurring a life-debt for himself deserves a reward." He looked at Harry down his nose, despite standing in the street below the quite high stoop of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. "And you saved both head and heir."

Harry shook his head. He suspected Malfoy was yanking this load of bollocks out of his arse, but he saw no reason to object, not really. If it would get him out of this potentially awkward situation sooner, he'd go along with it. "Fine. Then I demand the excruciating reward of one Galleon."

"You don't get to set the reward," Malfoy said, while his son gaped back and forth between him and Harry. Someone had poured iron down Malfoy's backbone in the years since he got out of prison, Harry thought idly. "The person who tells you that you deserve one does."

"Uh, right," Harry said. He wondered what Malfoy would think he deserved. A bow? A thanks?

"A handshake," Malfoy announced, and his voice slotted effortlessly into the place waiting for it in Harry's mind.

_Isn't that more a reward for you than for me? _But Harry wasn't that small and petty anymore; he could think lots of petty things, but he wouldn't speak them. He nodded and came down the stoop, holding out his hand. "Fine."

He expected Malfoy to shake his hand and be done with it, but instead, Malfoy clasped it while staring intently into his eyes. Harry raised his brows. Malfoy didn't let that make him get flustered or back out of it. He only gave Harry a tight little smile, as though they were mutually agreeable acquaintances, and then loosened his grip and stepped back. Now he did bow, a creaky gesture from the waist.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," Harry said, shrugging. This had taken longer than he'd thought it would when he confronted Natalia, but not that much longer. And it wasn't much time out of his day, after all.

"Daddy did it!" said the boy, staring up at Draco with that awe again. Harry had to grin. It was kind of cute. And it was even more refreshing to have someone stare like that at a person other than _him_, for once.

"We both did," said Malfoy, giving Harry a faint, satisfied smile. "Good-bye, Potter. Come along, Scorpius." And he hauled the no longer nameless, but still _really _unlucky, kid away with him.

Harry snorted and went back into the shop. Well, that had been a minor diversion between customers.

He wondered if that pure-blood custom really existed, but honestly, he didn't care enough to look it up. In ten minutes, it would be time to close up the shop and take lunch to George and try to coax him to eat.

And there it probably would have ended, except for Malfoy's propensity for paying attention to any mention of Death Eaters.


	2. Brushes With Newspapers

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_Brushes With Newspapers_

"And I hear that you will sell your pranks even to," Ariana Night leaned close and lowered her voice, "Death Eaters."

Harry sighed. Night had been pleading with him for an interview, and Harry had agreed because she'd promised to talk mostly about the shop, and he did feel sorry for her, the most junior reporter on the _Daily Prophet_. But he was starting to regret it. Night would twist questions around so that they were always about the war anyway, or Harry's old relationships with Ginny and Daphne Greengrass, or something else she considered scandalous.

They were in the back room of the shop, the one where leaning shelves and piled books contained prototypes and notes on the most delicate magical experiments, so Harry couldn't simply explode with anger. Instead, he stared at Night until she started to fidget on her stool. Her foot hit a stack of books. Harry prevented them from falling over with an easy motion of his wand, and spoke quietly.

"I don't think that I ought to judge a person's past when selling them pranks. Mr. Weasley agrees with me. We look instead at what a person might use them for, or whether they're buying pranks in very large numbers, or suspicious ingredients. That's what we judge them on, not their pasts."

Night rapped her quill quickly against her notebook, and her smile spread wide. "But you can't deny that Death Eaters have used the products of this very shop to cause mischief! Why, Draco Malfoy himself bought the Peruvian Darkness Powder that he used…"

Her tongue apparently dried up. Harry knew why. Any reference to Fred, even so disguised a one as this, would draw forth a glare from him that Hermione told him was more devastating than a basilisk's. Ron refused to stay in the same room with him when he looked like that.

What George would have done was even worse. Harry was thankful beyond words that George was in Romania at the moment, visiting Charlie and also negotiating for scraps of dragon eggshell for their latest project.

"I won't deny it," Harry said. "I also won't deny that plenty of people who aren't Death Eaters have pranked people and had the pranks go wrong and cause more harm than they meant to, or used some of the products of our shop to commit suicide, or get away with cheating, or make someone believe a hurtful lie. But they can do the same thing with ingredients from any apothecary, with books from Flourish and Blotts, with magical creatures from any pet shop. Are you going to argue that _they _should also be questioned?"

Night lifted her chin with a rustle of thick black hair. "Well, no. But the Boy-Who-Lived serving Death Eaters? It's so _appalling_."

"You know nothing about me," Harry said softly, rising to his feet. "And I'll thank you to leave. This interview is over."

"You haven't answered most of my questions!" Night unrolled a scroll of parchment that looked almost as long as she was tall. "I have so many things that I want to ask you, and you haven't obliged at all…"

She trailed off, maybe because Harry had drawn his wand. Harry waved it and murmured, "_Ventus_."

The modified Wind Charm only worked in the back room of the shop, since it was there mainly as a precaution to deter thieves, but it worked quite well. It scooped up Night and her notebook and quill and threw them bodily through the door into the main room of the shop. Harry locked it behind her, and spent some time ignoring her hammering on the wood until she stomped off.

Then he opened it and called out sweetly, "You might not want to touch anything."

A squeal and a puff of blue smoke said that his warning came too late. Harry rolled his eyes and went to fetch a shovel.

Although he was pleased beyond words that George felt well enough now to do things like travel to Romania and leave Harry in charge of Wheezes, he would also be pleased beyond words when George came _back_.

* * *

"I have to speak to Potter."

_And that's Malfoy, _Harry thought, poking his head out from the shelves where he was stacking the newest display of Exploding Whizzbees.

Malfoy was indeed standing in the front of the shop, with little Scorpius beside him again. Scorpius was gaping at the shelf of tiny, color-changing toy puppies in a way that made Harry smile. No child was too young to be enchanted by the pranks that George had invented.

George stood behind the counter, and his gaze was fixed on Malfoy as if he could make him fly out through the door without using his wand. "Get out of here," he said. "Death Eater."

"Yes, other people call me that name, too," said Malfoy, unmoved. "It's that I'm here about." He caught sight of Harry then, and nodded him over. "Yes, you. I need to talk to you."

_Being in Azkaban hasn't cost him _all _his pride, then, _Harry thought, and moved over to him. "I hope you're not talking about that ridiculous Night woman," he said. "I told her we didn't care who bought our pranks. It's not my fault if she reported something else." He could sense George's balance shifting behind him. They'd had a good laugh over Night, and George was curious now, rather than angry.

"I know you refused to tell her you were concerned about me buying the products of your fine shop." Harry gaped at him, but Malfoy was apparently speaking those last words with total seriousness. "It's that I'm here about. She reported you were defending Death Eaters. It took me a while to find out the truth behind that claim, and simply determine that you were defending my right to do what everyone else did."

"She brought you up once," Harry said, a little lost now. "The Peruvian Darkness Powder."

There was a footstep and a slam behind him, and Harry turned. George had gone into the back room. He did, when the war came up.

"She brought me up," said Malfoy. "You defended me."

Harry snorted. "I would hardly describe it that way. I granted her an interview because I thought there was the chance she would report on me more kindly than some people. And because I felt sorry for her."

Malfoy looked at him the way a hawk that Harry had found with a broken wing and nursed back to health once had, as though he was such an inconvenience that Malfoy couldn't understand how he found himself forced to deal with Harry. "And how many people do you feel _sorry _for on a daily basis?"

"I've lost count," Harry said.

Scorpius came towards him, holding a small winged and whirring bird in his fingers. "How do you make it fly?" he demanded of Harry, and extended it towards him.

"Don't bother Mr. Potter, Scorpius." Malfoy clipped both his voice and his son's shoulder. "Since he only has time for _pity_."

Harry rolled his eyes and knelt in front of Scorpius. "You have to touch the button on its back," he said. "And speak nicely to it." He and George had designed the little birds after hippogriffs; they wouldn't fly around the room, "causing havoc" as one reporter in the _Prophet _had put it, for people who were rude.

"Oh, I can do that!" Scorpius's face was brilliant. He pushed down on the button with one heavy little thumb, and said, "Please fly for me!"

The bird's wings stilled for a moment, and then it lifted away from Scorpius's palm and soared towards the ceiling in a dizzy spiral. Scorpius laughed and clapped. The bird flew back down and landed on Scorpius's shoulder, rubbing its beak against Scorpius's chin.

"I want it, Daddy," said Scorpius, imperiously enough that Harry changed his mind a little about who was really in charge of this family.

"How much?" Malfoy's voice was still clipped as he reached into his pouch.

"Free to cute kids," said Harry, and ruffled Scorpius's hair the way he did with Rosie's. Scorpius stared at him in a way that said no one had ever dared to do that before. Harry changed his mind again. Scorpius might rule the family and get his dad to buy him anything he wanted, but he was still deprived.

"We can pay for it." Malfoy's chin had achieved new levels of haughtiness. "We are not _paupers_."

"For Merlin's sake, Malfoy." Harry would have used stronger language, but not with Scorpius in the room. "I've felt sorry for other people. I've given away pranks to other people before who were perfectly willing and able to pay, just because I liked them. You keep talking about how you deserve to be treated like everyone else? Well, _that's what I'm doing_. Stop talking like you should be the center of my pity _or _my universe."

Malfoy looked at him with blank eyes, and Scorpius looked at him with anxious eyes. "Are you arguing with Daddy?" he asked. He shifted from foot to foot and touched the little golden bird on the back. "Why?"

Harry broke the gaze that he and Malfoy were holding, and smiled at Scorpius. "No. I was just telling him the truth." He stepped back. "I should go check on George. Good-bye, Malfoy, Scorpius."

"Wait," said Malfoy, and gestured at him. "I haven't told you exactly what brought me here."

"Misconceptions, I think," Harry said softly, not taking his eyes from Malfoy's face.

"Perhaps not," said Malfoy ambiguously, which made Harry roll his eyes a little. He wasn't any better at figuring out riddles in conversation than he was at researching the inane pure-blood customs Malfoy seemed to be relying on. That was what Hermione was good at—both things.

"Well, anyway, I haven't done anything that you need to thank me for," Harry said. "So it can't be a pure-blood custom."

"There's all sorts of pure-blood customs," said Malfoy, his voice so soft that Harry wouldn't have heard if it had already moved a little further away. "But the one that applies in this situation—for defending my good name—is an obligation of hospitality. You ought to visit the home of the family you defended."

Harry recoiled before he could stop himself. His mind was full of Dobby's death and the nightmares from which Hermione woke screaming, the nightmares of her torture by Bellatrix. "No _thanks_."

Malfoy's face changed as he examined Harry. Then he said, "Perhaps the obligation can be altered, in this case, to meet in a place where we both feel comfortable. The Leaky Cauldron?"

"You don't have to meet me anywhere." Harry stared at the wall, and took a deep breath. The nightmares he'd held Hermione through last month, when Ron had been gone on an Auror mission, had been particularly upsetting.

"But I want to."

Harry stared back at him. Then he snorted. Malfoy wanted to go this far for a silly joke? Fine. Harry would call his bluff.

"The Leaky Cauldron at one-o'clock on Wednesday, then," he said, naming the busiest time.

Malfoy only nodded gravely. "I hope you won't mind if I bring Scorpius. I hate to leave him with the house-elves."

_He is persisting with the joke._ Harry threw up his hands, physically and mentally, and turned towards the back room of the shop. "I'll look forward to it, Malfoy."

"I will, too. Maybe then, I can extend thanks that will be more graciously accepted."

Harry turned around with an acid retort on his tongue that not even the presence of Scorpius would have kept him from saying, but Malfoy was already leaving the shop. Scorpius waved madly at him over his shoulder where the golden bird perched, singing tinny notes.

Harry leaned against the wall and made a series of noises he wouldn't have wanted to try to define. They were kind of like screaming, and kind of like grunting, and kind of like laughter.

Then he went to see how George was doing, but his mind was already on the Leaky Cauldron next week, and what the hell Malfoy would be there for.


	3. Obligations of Hospitality

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_Obligations of Hospitality_

Harry paused and looked around the Leaky Cauldron, not really surprised that Malfoy and Scorpius weren't here yet. Although he had showed up, he thought that Malfoy would probably back out, if it was a joke. And Harry wouldn't blame him. Hell, he would be glad to have a silly joke over with. They weren't twelve anymore. There was no reason to play pranks on each other.

Harry did make sure that he got a mug of Firewhisky before he went to his table. He could use the taste of the drink in his mouth to make him forget about the fight he'd had with George over coming.

George had spoken about Death Eaters and Malfoy and how they didn't have to show that they approved of Malfoy and what he had done, very passionately. Harry had agreed with that. They _didn't _need to approve of it. It would be stupid to approve of it, when it had got Bill scarred.

But he disagreed with the assumption that it meant they needed to yell at Malfoy or exile him from the shop, either. Malfoy had served his year for letting Death Eaters into the school and the consequences of it. It had actually been the only crime that he was convicted for, as the witnesses to the other crimes either were Death Eaters themselves or declined to press charges, the way Harry had. So Malfoy had paid for that.

George didn't have to see or serve him. And really, Harry could live happily for the rest of his life without seeing him either.

But this was something that would nag at him like an aching tooth if he didn't settle it. If nothing else, perhaps he could learn why Malfoy wanted to play a prank on him after so many years of productively ignoring each other.

"Potter."

Harry glanced up, eyebrow rising. Yes, there was Malfoy, clutching Scorpius's hand. Scorpius was staring around with an intense interest that told Harry he had never been in such a busy place. He tugged on Malfoy's hand and whispered, "Daddy, is that a _hag_?"

"It is, Scorpius," said Malfoy, without looking around, which made Harry decide that the war hadn't dented his self-confidence much. "But it's rude to point." He drew out a chair and shrank it slightly for Scorpius with his wand, then settled his son into it. "I'm going to get lunch for us," he told Harry. "What do you want?"

Harry blinked at him. He had assumed that little announcement was just Malfoy's way of asking Harry to watch Scorpius for a short time. But this was… "You don't need to buy me anything," he said. "I ate before I came. And this is paid for, too," he added, hoisting the mug of Firewhisky when Malfoy's eyes fell on it. It was true that he had only eaten breakfast and not lunch, but the argument with George had killed a lot of his appetite.

Malfoy opened his mouth. Harry never knew what he would have said, because just then, something else entered the conversation.

"Is that _your _tummy growling?" Scorpius stared at Harry, then ducked his head and covered his face with his hands as he laughed. "Feed the beast! That's what Daddy always says. Feed the beast!"

Harry couldn't help smiling. Really, things would have been easier if Malfoy had left Scorpius at home and he wasn't so bloody _cute._ "Yes, fine," he said. "It was breakfast, and not lunch," he added, when he saw Malfoy's narrowed eyes. It was important for Malfoy to know he wasn't lying. "I did eat. But not recently."

Malfoy nodded regally. "I know what I want, and Scorpius told me before he came. What do you want?"

Harry waved his hand. "A cheese sandwich is fine."

Malfoy's faintly puzzled expression said what he thought about that as lunch, but he nodded and strode away through the crowd. Scorpius had only had time to tell Harry what he had named the bird (Golden), how many tricks he could do with it (nine), and how much he liked it (lots) before Malfoy came back with the food. Scorpius had a sandwich, too, and Malfoy a plate of salad that surprised Harry. He hadn't known that the Leaky Cauldron even had salads.

"Thanks," said Harry, eyeing Scorpius's sandwich as he bit into his so he could understand why Malfoy was so disdainful of _Harry _only eating that for lunch. Then he saw a corner of lettuce sticking out of Scorpius's bread, and nodded wisely. Apparently, cheese by itself wasn't healthy enough for a father to approve of.

_Lucky for everyone concerned that he's not my dad, then._

Harry entertained himself for a second of how much trouble he would have given _any _Malfoy as a son, but especially Lucius, then came back to the present when he saw Malfoy's gaze fix sternly on him. Maybe he was a good enough Legilimens to read surface thoughts, like Snape, and didn't approve of the frivolous direction Harry's thoughts had taken. Come to that, _Harry_ wasn't sure he approved of it.

"Did you have something specific you wanted to talk about?" Harry asked, and ate some more of his sandwich while Malfoy appeared to hesitate about how he wanted to respond.

Scorpius tugged on his sleeve and whispered something to him. Malfoy nodded and faced Harry. "You may wonder what obligation of hospitality I am fulfilling, and why it can be met by meeting here instead of in the Manor."

"I did wonder about that," said Harry. "But I didn't think you'd be here, honestly."

"Why not?" Malfoy's voice was so glacial that Harry was a little surprised not to see ice curl around the piece of carrot on his fork.

"Because I thought it was a joke," Harry said, and held his eyes, shaking his head in response to Malfoy's headshake. "Come on, Malfoy. You've ignored me for years, and if you want to pay for those life-debts, or get payment for the ones I owe your family, then why did you wait so long to collect them?"

Malfoy's mouth worked, and then he filled it with more vegetables that he crunched up emphatically. Harry waited. That wasn't an answer.

Malfoy sipped from his glass of water, and finally replied, "It has nothing to do with life-debts, or with jokes."

"Then tell me what it has to do with." Harry saw the quick glance Malfoy gave Scorpius, but he shook his head impatiently. If this was completely inappropriate for Scorpius's ears, then Malfoy shouldn't have brought him along. What had he _thought _he and Harry would be discussing? The best way to roast pigeons whole, or whatever other decadent food Malfoy ate on a regular basis?

With a long sigh, Malfoy finished another forkful of salad. Then he put down his fork and said, "Your compassion towards me in Diagon Alley that day was unexpected."

"So was your custom," said Harry. "But I already told you that I think you should be treated just like anyone else."

"Not special?" Scorpius interrupted. He was staring at Harry with an expression that looked like it could become a pout at any second.

Harry grinned back. "No. I don't want you or your dad threatened, but if I saw someone else with a kid, then I'd protect them, too."

"Oh." Scorpius leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, with a scowl. "I thought you were my special friend."

Malfoy coughed and picked up his napkin to pat at his lips, but Harry had seen the smile on them. It was still visible in his eyes. He probably thought Harry couldn't get out of this without disappointing a kid.

"I just think a lot of people are special," said Harry, doing his best to smile at Scorpius and glare at Malfoy both at once. "But you got your bird, right? So you can think of me as your friend."

Scorpius studied him a little more, then said, "But why wouldn't you come over to our house?"

"Yes," Malfoy murmured, picking up his glass again, although it was empty now. "I wondered myself if you would ever accept the invitation."

"I prefer to be in public," Harry said. If Malfoy hadn't started talking about the war to Scorpius yet—although if Scorpius knew some of the things Harry had done, that seemed impossible—Harry wasn't about to begin it for him. "And I have a lot of things to do, you know. The shop to run, and my friends to take care of."

"Why do you have to take care of them?" Scorpius was sitting up and not pouting anymore, but smiling at Harry. "Why can't you come over to our house sometimes?"

And everything led back to the war. Really, Harry thought, this was why a friendship between him and Malfoy would be too hard. He had to drag Scorpius, an innocent, into a discussion that he and Malfoy knew every nuance of. Or he had to lie to him. Or he had to dance around so many things that there was barely anything they could talk about at all.

"Because my friends were hurt by a bad man," said Harry, glancing swiftly at Malfoy before he focused on Scorpius again. Malfoy just sat there with a calm, blank smile, as though he had never heard the story Harry was telling. "They have nightmares sometimes, you know? And they get scared. And they need to talk to someone. Sometimes they think it was their fault. So they need me there to tell them it wasn't."

"Like when I have a bad dream and Daddy has to tell me I'm okay?" Scorpius had put his chin in his hands. It made him look absurdly older. It was absurdly cute.

Harry was still determined not to let that influence him. This was so awkward.

"Yes," said Harry. "Exactly like that. They need me. It keeps me busy. And some of them—some of them know that the bad man had people _like _your dad helping him. It would hurt them if I went over to your house." He turned back to Malfoy. There. That was as close to the truth as he would dance on his own. Now Malfoy would either have to put up or shut up.

Malfoy only held his gaze, though, not seeming to feel the silent pressure to do anything in particular. His hand rested on his glass again, but he didn't pick it up. He didn't say anything and didn't look away from Harry, either, until Scorpius broke in again.

"But you could come over to our house sometimes, and just not tell them." Scorpius was smiling at him. "You don't have to tell everybody everything. That's what Daddy says." And he gave another adoring glance at Malfoy.

"Such interesting things your daddy teaches you," said Harry, holding Malfoy's gaze. "No. Thank you for lunch, Malfoy." He finished his sandwich with one more bite. "It's been interesting. But this is too much for me." He stood up.

"Where are you going?" Scorpius cried in disappointment, reaching out with one hand. Several pairs of eyes focused on them from all over the restaurant. Harry hid a sigh. "You didn't come over to see Golden! You didn't explain anything to me! You didn't say goodbye!"

_Damn it_. Harry was opening his mouth to answer Scorpius when Malfoy broke in, "Mr. Potter is going to say good-bye, Scorpius, but he does need to get back to work. And I have to talk about something adult with him. Will you mind sitting here while we do it?"

"_Adult _stuff," said Scorpius, in the tone that said something was deeply boring, and flopped back with his arms crossed and his lip stuck out in that pout Harry had been trying to avoid. Then he peered under his eyelashes at Harry. "But good-bye, Mr. Potter. Will you come over and see Golden?"

Harry had to smile back. "I don't know, Scorpius. Good-bye."

He expected Malfoy to lead him out of the pub, but instead, Malfoy flicked his wand, and a privacy ward rose around them. Scorpius didn't seem angry at being shut out. He sat back in his chair and ate some more of his sandwich instead, then separated two crusts and began to chop them back and forth, whispering to himself.

"It's not a joke."

"Fine," Harry told Malfoy. "You said that before. That doesn't tell me what it _is_, and if it's even worth me spending more time here with you or not." He folded his arms in challenge as Malfoy eyed him. By his reckoning, Malfoy had got almost an hour of fun out of him, if he was playing with Harry and being cryptic on purpose. It was time for him to give a direct answer.

Malfoy hesitated long enough that Harry nearly turned away after all and left him alone with his secrets. But he saw the way Malfoy bit his lip and glanced down and to the side, and sighed. It reminded him too much of Ron and the way he sometimes reacted after his nightmares—the ones he needed Harry there for but was embarrassed about having—for his own good.

"I saw you come out that day in the alley," Malfoy whispered. "I barely recognized you. And I never would have thought that you'd care about someone who was threatening me, but so mildly. I thought—I thought this might be a chance to show you that I _did _appreciate what you did for me in the trials, and show that we don't need to be enemies. I don't hate you anymore. I don't dislike you except when you say something that I think is arrogant or treating me badly." He held Harry's eyes. "I thought we could make a fresh beginning."

Harry blinked slowly. Fine, that made sense, but one thing still didn't. "Why would you want to make a new beginning with _me_, Malfoy? If it was one of your friends that you'd drifted apart from, that I could see."

Malfoy's face worked through some more complex emotions, but he ended up shaking his head. "You never wanted to change your fate? To make new friends?"

"I have all the friends I can use, really," Harry said. Again his mouth filled with the taste of mold and darkness when he thought about arguing with George, and he bowed his head. "Sometimes I think that I'm not a good friend to the ones I have."

"Is it only people who were hurt in the war who have a claim on your time and attention?" Oddly, Malfoy was smiling. "I can fulfill that criterion, if you do have it."

Harry made a brushing-away motion with one hand. Put like that, it did make him sound incredibly selfish. "It's more that what I said before is true. My friends would be hurt by me going to the Manor. George is hurt enough that I came here today. We had a big fight about it. They're all so scarred from the war, Malfoy, and it's not fair, but you and your family were part of that scarring. I can forgive you for what you did, but with them, it's not forgiveness and more just not wanting to have you around to remind them."

"All so scarred," Malfoy repeated, so slowly that Harry opened his mouth to remind him about Bill, although it seemed stunning that he would have forgotten. But Malfoy's eyes were on his forehead. "Not you?"

Harry half-grinned. "I don't have nightmares. I didn't lose my twin brother. I didn't get tortured like Hermione did. I wouldn't say that I have it _easy_, when I see the suffering the war caused around me every day, but I'm luckier than some."

Malfoy said nothing, the lines of his face drawing down further and further. Harry eyed him curiously. Had he thought they could bond over shared trauma or something? An interesting idea, not one that the Malfoy he'd known would have had, but not one that would work. Harry really didn't have trauma. He had stress and worry, like everybody else. He was just an ordinary bloke going about his life and trying to help his friends go about theirs.

"I see," said Malfoy at last. "Well, then. I would say that you might at least consider what it means that I've reached out to you, shaken your hand and received a gift from you and entertained you to lunch. That you might consider whether you can spare any of your time for me or Scorpius." He brushed hair away from his forehead, eyes intent.

Harry shrugged. "I like Scorpius. But I meant it when I said that my life is full, and it would anger my friends for me to go anywhere near you."

"To go to my house or invite me to your shop, you said." Malfoy's eyes had a gleam that made Harry want to snap back, but he held still, and Malfoy followed it up with, "And do you let them dictate what you do in your own home?"

"Is there a custom for that, as well?"

"Sometimes," said Malfoy, sounding unruffled, "it's good manners to invite someone who's treated you to a meal over for a meal, as well."

Harry studied him, then snorted. He didn't really care what insinuations Malfoy made about his behavior, and even the way he criticized Harry's friends no longer hurt Harry. But he didn't want to make it sound as though he was consumed by his friends, because that might make Malfoy say more hurtful things _to _them, and they had enough pain to deal with as it was.

And Scorpius was cute, and Harry wouldn't mind seeing more of him. Maybe he could even learn to like his dad.

"Fine," he said. "One-o'clock on Tuesday, then?" Tuesdays were usually the day of the week George liked to be in the shop by himself, testing pranks that he knew Harry considered too dangerous. And Harry liked to leave him alone, to sleep in late and give George some independence. It might never be much—ten years after Fred's death, George's grief was still paralyzing—but he had to have _some _time alone.

Malfoy smiled as though he had won a prize.

"That sounds fine," he said. "I'll tell Scorpius to bring his bird."

And his hand came out and clasped Harry's in a way that made Harry roll his eyes, but also raised a strange spark of warmth, hiding deep inside his belly. At least he knew this wasn't a joke to Malfoy.


	4. Demands of Fever

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_Demands of Fever_

"Damn," Ron said, and then leaned over and vomited into a bucket that stood next to his bed. It hadn't a minute before, but Harry had got handy with conjuring lots of things that his friends needed.

"I know," Harry said, and cast another charm to tell him how high Ron's fever had got. Still higher than he liked. Ron had caught a Disease Charm full in the face when he was hunting down one of the nastier kidnappers of his career, and that, combined with working long hours and not eating much during the case, had knocked him into a full-blown fever and shaking and chills. "But it'll be all right." He stroked Ron's forehead with one hand and cast another cooling spell on his skin. It had to be timed precisely, too, so that it didn't cool him down _too _much. The fever had to work.

"I feel as though I could cook an egg on my hair," Ron moaned, and closed his eyes.

"I know," said Harry softly. "I know." He moved the bucket over again, considered the clock, and spelled ice directly into Ron's stomach. Ron shivered and complained. "Sorry," Harry said, in what he knew was a completely unconvincing way.

"Bloody bastard," Ron said, without meaning it. He curled up and dragged some of the blankets with him, nearly falling off the bed.

Harry adjusted him without thinking about it and glanced at the bedroom door. Hermione had her hands full with Rosie, who didn't understand why she couldn't visit her daddy and kept banging on the door. But although the disease was magical, Hermione was worried about their daughter catching it, and Harry didn't blame her. Bad enough to have Ron aching and shivering and vomiting when he knew what was going on; you couldn't explain something like that to Rose when she was this young.

Luckily, the powerful glowing spell along the edges of the door was undisturbed. Rosie couldn't get through it, even with accidental magic. There were advantages to being one of the most powerful wizards in the world, Harry thought.

Or, well, something that _felt _like one of the most powerful wizards in the world. He didn't actually know if he was or not, and he didn't care. He wanted to be strong enough to take care of his friends, and that was all that actually mattered.

He Summoned another bucket and cast a few Stomach-Soothing Charms as Ron started vomiting again.

* * *

Knocking on the door—his door, not Ron's door, and slowly the memory surfaced of returning home in the small hours of the morning, after Ron's fever had broken—pulled Harry from a sleep that had felt more like death. He sat up and scratched his forehead, trying to understand why someone would be knocking. Not Hermione. She would have firecalled if something had gone wrong with Ron. And so would George. And so would Molly.

The knock came again, and the sharp call of, "Potter! You invite us to your home and then you keep us locked out?"

Harry groaned and thought about flopping back down on the pillows and pretending he wasn't home. He had totally forgotten that Malfoy and Scorpius were supposed to come by today. He wanted to _sleep_. His body still ached from being driven to its limits, from staying up all night and casting lots of charms.

But he had made the promise, so he cast a series of quick Cleaning Charms on himself, made sure that he had any empty food cartons from Muggle takeaway out of sight, and made his way to the door, calling, "Coming!"

When he opened the door, Malfoy opened his mouth to rant at him, and then shut it abruptly and stared at Harry.

"You invited us and kept us waiting," said Malfoy. He shifted a little just as Harry opened his mouth to question what "us" he meant, and Harry saw that he was holding Scorpius's hand, as usual. Scorpius had Golden in one hand, but he closed his mouth and stared at Harry. "That is rude. But when I see the state of your face, I think I might know why." His gaze traveled beyond Harry, as if he wanted to see whether Harry's home was dirty.

Harry stepped back and shrugged at him. "I was up all night tending to Ron. He caught a Disease Curse in the face. Nasty thing. Do you want to go to the kitchen first, or the drawing room?" He managed to smile at Scorpius. "You can let your bird fly anywhere you want to. I proofed everything against pranks a long time ago."

"Golden isn't a prank," Scorpius muttered, but he smiled back, and stroked the little bird on his shoulder. It took off and flew around the room, and Scorpius released his father's hand and ran after it.

That left Malfoy standing there and studying him. Harry rolled his eyes. "I cast all sorts of charms on myself to make sure that I wouldn't carry the sickness out of Ron's room," he said. "Hermione has a daughter, and she's as protective of her as you could be of Scorpius."

"I don't think so," said Malfoy, but more in the tones of a pleasant observation than as if he wanted to make a point, so Harry let it go. He was still studying Harry. "You may not be sick, but you look exhausted."

"Is there a pure-blood custom that says the host has to look perfectly well-rested before he invites you in?" Harry didn't manage to take the snap out of his voice this time, although he'd tried. "Or that you can't accept food from anyone who doesn't match your level of grooming?" He snapped his fingers at Malfoy's slick, smooth hair. "Because I'm never going to look like you do, unless I manage to become an Animagus and a peacock is my form."

Malfoy's nostrils flared. Then he said, "I was trying to be _considerate. _I doubt whether you're up to the challenges of hosting us today."

That made Harry turn away and walk into the house in silence, because fuck Malfoy, who did he think he was? Scorpius was spinning in the middle of Harry's room, still chasing Golden, and laughing. He looked up at Harry and smiled. "Mr. Potter! This is fun!"

"Good," said Harry. "Would you like some lunch?"

"Yes, please!" Scorpius called Golden back with a little wave of his hand, impressing Harry; you _could _command the birds that way, but it took most owners a long time to realize it. Then he trotted after Harry into the kitchen. "What are we having?" He scrambled up onto the one stool Harry had at the table, the one that Rosie always liked to sit on, too, and looked around as though the windows and plain wooden walls were unusual.

Harry knew Malfoy had come in and was lingering in the doorway, but he planned to ignore him for the moment. "That depends on what you want," he said. "I could make you a sandwich, or a salad, or eggs, or bacon—"

"I've never had bacon," said Scorpius. "I want it!"

At that, Harry couldn't help but turn and stare at Malfoy. He already knew that Scorpius had been deprived of things like people ruffling his hair, but honestly. To take bacon away from a child?

Malfoy's cheeks were slightly flushed, as though he was the one who'd been sick. "I didn't think it was healthy for a child his age," he murmured, and came to sit down on one of the regular chairs, across the table from Scorpius. Harry's table stood in a little nook of the kitchen. Malfoy looked up and down, as though counting the panes in the windows that wrapped around the nook.

"I'm _six_!" Scorpius bounced on the stool. "I can have bacon!"

"While you're my guest, sure," said Harry, but kept his eyes on Malfoy as he started Summoning plates and food. If Malfoy really had some good reason for wanting to keep it away from Scorpius, then Harry would just pretend he didn't have any.

But Malfoy maintained that intense interest in the features of Harry's home. Harry shook his head as he took out the pan. To think that he should have lived to recognize signs of embarrassment in Draco Malfoy's face.

Scorpius ended up slipping off the stool and coming up to him, staring at the little flame that Harry conjured and the charms he cast and asking endless questions. Well, he would have had meals cooked by house-elves at home, and wouldn't have seen this before, Harry supposed. Somehow, he couldn't picture Malfoy cooking. He answered the questions as patiently as he could, and Scorpius seemed to know the moment when he had to go sit down and stop asking Harry questions if he wanted perfect bacon. He went to show Golden the world outside the windows, and make the little bird bow and scrape by touching the button in its back in a certain way.

"I hope you don't feel that we're intruding."

Harry's shoulders curled a little despite himself. Of course Malfoy would turn his attention away from the windows the minute Scorpius approached them. On the one hand, that was kind of flattering, reassuring Harry that Malfoy didn't think anything in his house would hurt Scorpius. On the other hand, it was also _immensely _annoying. "I invited you," he said, and turned the bacon over with a precise movement of his wrist so that it wouldn't crisp too much. "If I forgot the date, then it's not your fault."

There was a slight disturbance in the air next to him, and Harry started a little. He knew Scorpius was still over by the windows, chattering to his bird about what it might see if it flew over the gardens, so it had to be Malfoy. He just hadn't expected Malfoy to come so close to him.

"I wonder," said Malfoy, and cast something. Harry concentrated on the bacon. It was going to be crispy all down the edges but still have some taste, just the way he liked it.

"You _are _exhausted," said Malfoy, his voice sharper than before. Harry didn't raise his eyes to the ceiling only because he didn't want to take them away from the bacon. Visiting an exhausted person probably didn't set a good example for Scorpius or something. "Magically and physically. You should be on bed rest."

_That _was a new one. Harry glanced sideways at Malfoy as he finally settled the bacon, done to perfection, on the three plates that he'd already laid out. If Malfoy didn't want his, Harry was sure Scorpius would eat it. "No one's ever told me that before."

"Perhaps the charms that would tell them how sick you are aren't common knowledge." Malfoy was gripping his wand so hard that Harry briefly regretted not having the Elder Wand any more to heal it if it broke. "You look and _feel _as though you're going to collapse. And you're putting yourself out for us."

"Because you pointed out that the pure-blood customs apply to this situation." Harry grinned. He didn't feel light-headed, and he knew what magical exhaustion felt like, both from the inside and the outside, when George had driven himself through agonies of creation to produce a new prank and then collapsed. He did feel kind of smug that he was getting to use pure-blood customs against Malfoy as well as going along with them, for once. "I wanted to invite you to lunch. It was my choice. I did it. Now that you're here, I have to honor it, don't I?"

Malfoy stood there, tense and unhappy, and looked towards Scorpius. Harry looked, too, but Scorpius wasn't doing anything wrong. He was flying Golden around by holding it in his hand, now, and spinning in place so fast that he'd be dizzy by the time he was done.

"Scorpius wanted to visit you so much," Malfoy whispered. "He talked about it all week. And I know that he's looking forward to eating bacon so much. I don't want to take him away now." He looked at Harry with eyes that seemed honestly haunted.

Harry held back his laughter with an effort. "Really, it's okay, Malfoy," he said, and got out some scones and butter, too. He would just conjure water for them to drink. He didn't have any pumpkin juice, or milk, or anything like that. "I'll rest after you leave. I did get _some _sleep before you stumbled in here. It's all right."

Malfoy drew himself up like an offended snake. "We did not _stumble _in."

"Came in, then." The last thing Harry wanted at the moment was to argue about terminology. "Come on."

* * *

Scorpius ate so much bacon that his cheeks bulged out like a squirrel's, and he kept praising Harry as the best cook on the planet. Harry told him that he shouldn't let the Malfoy house-elves hear that, which made Scorpius absurdly nervous, which made Malfoy tell him that it was okay and Prissy wouldn't mind. Harry had to control his laughter again at the house-elf's name. At least it had an r in it.

When they were done with the meal, Scorpius flew Golden around the drawing room and Harry did the dishes. Malfoy stood nearby, not helping him—Harry reckoned that you weren't supposed to do that if you were a pure-blood guest—but all but hovering. He seemed to think Harry would collapse at any moment.

"Is there a custom that says you need to worry about your host's health?" Harry asked, finally turning around to face him.

"I worry about yours," Malfoy said shortly. "I did not—Potter, I _wouldn't _have come if I'd known that you were sick."

"I'm not," said Harry, thinking now he knew what this was about. "I know how to check for that. I wouldn't want to get Rose—Ron and Hermione's daughter—sick, and Scorpius won't catch it from me. Or you." Maybe Malfoy was worried about himself, too.

Malfoy glanced away from him and out the windows at the back garden, frowning. Then he said, "And what are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"Go back to bed and sleep my arse off," said Harry, and had to chuckle at the way that Malfoy automatically checked the distance between them and Scorpius. "You don't want him to hear anything other than what you say to him?"

"Certain words, he doesn't need to know yet," said Malfoy, and made a complex gesture with his wand. Again the air around them dimmed with some sort of privacy ward that would keep Scorpius from hearing what they said. Harry sighed. It was really none of his business, but it seemed likely to him that Malfoy would grow up with a distrustful son if he kept this up. And maybe he should say something for Scorpius's sake.

He'd just opened his mouth when Malfoy leaned in and spoke quietly, as though he expected the privacy ward to fail any second, too. "And so. Do you believe me now when I say that I wanted to make peace, and have since we first saw each other again in Diagon Alley?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. Malfoy went on looking at him, calm and complacent. Or seemingly so. The way that his hands tightened on each other gave the lie to that appearance.

"All right," said Harry slowly. "Say that I _do _believe you. But I don't think you need to do more than you've already done. I promise to go to bed, okay? And it's good that you came and woke me up, or I would have slept straight through lunch, and I always have a headache when I don't eat on time."

"That's something that happens regularly, then," said Malfoy, in the kind of tone Harry had heard Healers at St. Mungo's use. "If you know what your response is likely to be ahead of time."

"I'm not neglecting myself," said Harry. It was best to treat Malfoy like a reporter, he decided, someone who wanted to pounce on tiny "clues" and build up stories about Harry from there. "I promise that I'm not. My friends don't take advantage of me. They need a lot of help, and sometimes I am tired or hungry after I help them. But I _choose _to do that. I could have told Ron to go to St. Mungo's when he got sick. He would have gone. But I wanted to help him. And I didn't get sick, and it's recoverable. So don't worry that much about me."

Malfoy was silent for long enough that Harry thought he had offended him. He was a little sorry for that. He wanted Malfoy to leave and stop sounding as though he blamed Harry's friends for something, but he didn't want to lose the chance to say hello to Scorpius sometimes.

"Very well," said Malfoy. "But there's a pure-blood custom to make up for the worry that you've caused me, worry that I would not have expected to feel, as you are not part of the family."

Harry held back his groan. Of course there was another bloody custom. "What?"

"Allow me to bring you a gift," said Malfoy. "Within a week or so. I will need that long to decide on something I think you'd like."

"What, I don't get to pick my own gift?" Harry asked, joking a little. He still thought Malfoy was making up half of these things, but the notion of a present did touch him. Probably growing up with the Dursleys, he thought. Gifts meant a lot to him.

"No more than you got to pick your own reward." Malfoy nodded regally to him and swept out of the room to collect Scorpius.

Harry sighed and finished the washing-up. Seriously, Malfoy was being so ridiculous. Harry didn't need obligations and old-fashioned rules to give his friends what they wanted.

But he did have to keep his head bowed for an extra minute before he could go and tell them good-bye, to get control of his smile.


	5. Obtained With Difficulty

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_Obtained With Difficulty_

"And so the wheel doesn't explode when we use it," said George, nodding wisely as he bent over their latest prank. He touched one finger to the wheel in the center, then jerked it back. Harry reckoned it was still hot from the speed of its spin.

Harry ladled some crushed carrots into his mouth and grinned at George. "You _can _learn. Sometimes I don't despair."

George grinned back at him and leaned down around the prank, a miniature model of a cannon, again. "You still haven't told me why you knew to move out of the way and didn't get thrown against the wall like I did," he muttered. He reached up to touch the bandage on the back of his skull.

Harry promptly swatted his hand away, using a spell. He didn't want to move from the table or the delicious stew from the Leaky Cauldron that he and George got every Friday. "When I see sparks leaping out of something, I move. Surprising, isn't it?"

"I think the war gave you a survival instinct some of the rest of us don't have," George muttered.

His face clouded a second later. It always did, because speaking of the war would bring Fred back to him. Harry checked a sigh and instead asked, "So, you think you know how to fix it so sparks won't come out anymore?"

"Of course not," George said. "We should leave that in. Early warning system, see? Maybe next time, _you'll _be the one bumping up against the wall."

Harry opened his mouth to retort when someone knocked on the shop door. He stood up, exchanging frowns with George. They always closed the shop up during their lunch hour, and their wards kept away particularly rude customers. It was probably an emergency, then.

Harry already had his wand in hand as he rounded the corner of the counter, but a second later, he stopped. Malfoy stood outside the door. Alone this time, it looked like. Well, aside from the enormous gift with white wrapping and a silver bow in his hand. He was frowning at the door as though it and not his gift was the weird thing in this picture.

Well, no, the strangest thing, if Harry thought about it, was that the wards had let Malfoy this close in the first place. He slid his wand into his holster and moved closer, studying Malfoy's face. The wards would have picked up on hostile intent.

But they would allow someone who had visited his home through them, he remembered belatedly. They'd had a bit of a problem with Neville and Luna when they had the wards set to only allow blood family through, so they'd altered them. Harry hadn't thought of that particular fact when he invited Malfoy and Scorpius over to his house.

He still wasn't sorry he'd done it, though. No matter what kind of awkward conversation he would have to have with George later.

He opened the door. Malfoy's face relaxed when he saw Harry, and he held out the gift with a bow that Harry found irritatingly appealing. "I brought your gift," he said. "My apologies for it taking more than a week. I had to search hard to find what I was looking for."

"Thank you," said Harry, taking the box and staring at it curiously. When he hadn't heard from Malfoy, he had pretty much decided he _wouldn't _hear, and the box was almost as big as his head. When he shook it, it rattled.

"Harry. What's this, then?"

George's voice, near his right shoulder, was calm, but no one who had spent time around George in the past few years would have been reassured by hearing him speak like that. Harry just glanced at him, though, as though this was all perfectly normal. It would have to be, if he wanted to continue to see Scorpius, and if accepting the gift obligated him to Malfoy in some way. "I had Malfoy and his son over for lunch last week. He said he would bring me a gift, and now he has."

"If it's presents you want, Mum would be delighted to give you some," said George, and tried to trade glares with Malfoy. As seemed to be his nature, Malfoy refused to cooperate, instead looking at Harry as though he was the only person in the shop.

"Don't shake it too hard," said Malfoy. "You'll shatter it, and that would be unfortunate."

Harry looked up with a smile. "Is it a mirror?"

Malfoy's mouth fell open ungracefully. Harry chuckled and opened the box. "Just the way you worded it," he explained.

Inside was a small mirror, an oval of glass without a handle or a frame. Harry wasn't sure how to pick it up, so he just scooped it up in one hand and looked at Malfoy. The mirror had begun to glow a soft, steady yellow when he touched it, but he didn't feel any warmth or sparks from it.

"It's a mirror designed to tell you when you've gone too far," said Malfoy, his tongue back under control again. "Magical exhaustion will make it glow green. Illness, red. If you're simply physically exhausted, blue."

Harry nodded. "And yellow?"

"It's getting used to you." The yellow glow vanished as Malfoy spoke the next words, and he nodded. "The enchantments I laid on it made it responsive only to the touch of one person. Otherwise, the balance of the magic gets thrown off, and it responds to too many people."

Harry smiled, pleased. A lot of the time, it was true, he did push himself too hard, and Malfoy wouldn't always be around to tell him when he did, and sometimes his friends would tell him, but other times, they were too involved in the horrors of the war. "Thanks, Malfoy. This is pretty useful."

Malfoy squinted at Harry. Something was wrong or off with his reaction, Harry supposed. He didn't know the pure-blood custom that he'd violated or not paid enough attention to this time, though, so he did the best he could to make up for it, and reached out and squeezed Malfoy's hand. "You made this yourself?"

"The magic. I bought the glass, of course."

Harry held back the remark he wanted to make about how apparently knowing how to Transfigure or make glass was beneath a Malfoy's dignity, and said, "It must have taken you a long time. Thanks again." He held the glass up to his face, but it didn't glow at all. Good. There had been a bunch of sneezing kids in the shop yesterday, and he was afraid that he might have got a cold.

"You're welcome." Malfoy still squinted at him, and didn't say anything, and didn't retreat, standing there with his arms folded, and George was humming away at Harry's shoulder like one of those artificial beehives they'd invented last year, so Harry thought it was a good idea to just ask outright.

"Why did you decide to give this to me in particular? And lay down all the spells and do all the work and stuff?"

"Will you leave the shop if you're going to talk to someone who nearly got my brother killed?" George asked loudly.

"Yes," said Harry, and dropped the mirror back into its box and stepped out the front door, leaving George to gape behind him. A second later, the door slammed. Harry didn't care. He would do what he could to help George when he was suffering from grief for Fred, but there were other times that George pushed too far and needed to be reminded that the whole world didn't revolve around him.

Malfoy turned to walk down Diagon Alley beside him, one eye on him and one on the rest of the street. "Seriously, it's a great gift," said Harry. "And I don't think I'd have the magical expertise to do it. But why?"

Malfoy frowned at nothing, his fingers tapping on his leg. Finally, he said, "Because you were the first person who was nice to me in a normal way in a long time. To _me_. I know you like Scorpius, but I can tell the difference between people who only serve me because they think my son is adorable and people who help me because I'm a human being."

"You're talking about defending you from Natalia? Because I haven't really been nice to you other than that."

"You still had us over for lunch when you could have told us to fuck off," Malfoy whispered. "You care for your friends, but you don't let them control your life. As much as I had assumed," he added, giving Harry a haughty look.

Harry nodded back with a knowing grin. "You still think they control my life to a ridiculous extent."

"I've been reading newspaper stories on you in the intervals when I wasn't caring for Scorpius or working on the mirror." Malfoy turned to face him. "Why are your friends the ones who are still suffering from nightmares and illnesses and trouble from the war without being under the care of Mind-Healers or Healers? Don't tell me they can't afford the care."

"So, is there a pure-blood custom about rewarding bluntness with bluntness?" Harry carefully put the box with the mirror down next to him and looked Malfoy in the eye. "That seems to be what you're doing."

Malfoy flushed, a long tide of crimson down from his neck to his shoulders, and looked away. "I still want to know the answer. And it seems to me that your friends are the _only _ones who never take advantage of Healers."

"Oh, they have," said Harry. "But it's hard to get excellent care from the Healers when you have mediwitches and mediwizards swooning, because they're so excited to meet a war hero, or refusing to treat you because of the negative publicity St. Mungo's might suffer if they do something wrong, or spending all their time officiously bustling around and trying to get you to donate to them."

A faint frown line appeared between Malfoy's eyebrows. "You have the same problem I do, in reverse?"

Harry nodded. "George tried to talk to a few people, friends of his, contacts he'd made through ordering ingredients for pranks, in the year after Fred's death. A lot of them refused to talk to him about it at all. They only had business relationships. Or they blamed him for surviving when their family members had died. Or they had Death Eater relatives and they blamed him for them going to prison."

"They should blame _you,_ if they were going to blame anyone."

"But George was the one they could get at," said Harry. "The one who was in contact with them. And by then, the papers were already reporting that I didn't give a fuck about the people who were trying to condemn me for not being a good little martyr and not sacrificing my life to save theirs. George was hurt, though. He was angry. He got in some fights with people and arrested several times. It was a lot more satisfying for people who wanted to see a reaction."

Harry looked away. It was still hard to remember that year after the war, the hardest one. George was being arrested constantly, there was the haunted look in Molly's eyes, he and Ginny were going through everything that had happened between them, he was trying to explain being a Horcrux to Ron and Hermione when they were suffering from their own nightmares and problems, he had people yelling at him from left and right trying to make him fix things, he was testifying for some people like Malfoy, the Wizengamot and the Ministry wanted him to be their mascot, and he had ex-Death Eaters trying to see if they could assassinate him or hurt one of his friends.

"You did suffer, after all."

"I never denied I did. It just wasn't as much as some of my friends did."

"How can that be?" Malfoy shifted his weight, and brought Harry's eyes back to him. "You were the one who mostly fought the Dark Lord."

Harry snorted. "I wasn't on that quest alone, you know. Ron and Hermione were with me every step of the way." So, all right, there was the Forest of Dean, but Ron had already acknowledged and apologized for that numerous times, the way that George had for getting arrested, and Harry didn't want to stir up old ghosts. "Snape got me information that was vital to the war and my survival. Dumbledore manipulated a lot from behind the scenes, but he was also the one who left instructions with Snape for what I had to do in the end. I won the war with the help of a lot of people. Including you, and your connection with the Elder Wand."

"Let's say that I believe you. You and your friends should be equally affected."

"What, do you have money on one of those stupid bets about when I'm going to go mental and start killing people or something?" Harry asked, and shook his head. "I can be affected as much as them without being affected in the same _way_, you know. And so can the rest of the wizarding world. The war was this huge psychic wound. The first war was probably the same way, but I didn't grow up with it and see the scars that one left. I think a lot of people are like me. They were luckier or they were more resilient or whatever, and they're living life and caring for their families who weren't as lucky."

Malfoy's face wrinkled into a new kind of frown. "I suppose that you could describe me that way. I have been raising Scorpius on my own, without much advice from my parents."

"Well, they're abroad. What advice could they give you? Unless they send you owl post."

"Post by mynah and parrot, more often," said Malfoy absently, and then shook his head. "But I don't think we're the same. When I saw the chance for something new, someone who might treat me and Scorpius the way I wanted, I took it. You would have ignored the chance."

Harry shrugged. "I try not to cause my friends pain. I think this is going to. That doesn't mean that I'll let them make me stop talking to you or Scorpius. But it does mean that I wasn't going to seek you out."

More deep-eyed squinting at him. Harry endured that patiently. He thought he understood Malfoy now. He was lonely. He had his son, but his wife had divorced him years ago, maybe the year Scorpius was born, and he wanted friends. It was natural that if he really did think Harry had been treating him normally, he would reach out. He probably wouldn't if he'd had had as many friends left as Harry had.

"You should know," said Malfoy abruptly, "that Scorpius wanted very much to come with me today. But I wanted to see what you would do if you saw me alone, without him. If you would really be as cordial."

"Does blunt and uncomfortable count as cordial?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah. But I don't know if you see it the same way. You're a bit of a mystery, Malfoy, pure-blood customs and all that."

"The pure-blood customs aren't followed very often anymore," Malfoy said in a low voice, his eyes going deeper than ever. At least he was no longer squinting, which Harry was glad about. He was afraid that Malfoy's eyes might stick that way. "But they're real, and I'm curious to see if you will follow the next one."

"What next one?" Harry held up his hands. "I'm not looking things up so that I can give you the right gift now, or what the fuck ever."

"Even if it's important to me?"

The words were quiet, but the emotion behind them wasn't, and Harry would have to be shallower than Hermione had once accused Ron of being to miss it. He sighed. "All right, yes, fine. But it's not like I have books of pure-blood customs sitting around my house. Where am I supposed to look?"

"I understand that you have standing access to Hogwarts's library," said Malfoy, looking satisfied, "based on your friendship with the Headmaster. I would begin there." He nodded to Harry. "I will tell Scorpius you wished to see him. Thank you for accepting the gift."

He Apparated before Harry could ask whether not accepting was even an _option_. Harry picked up the box with the mirror again and looked at it thoughtfully.

Malfoy was a little weird, sure. Him and his customs and his wild ability to take a chance on something so small that Harry would have thought he'd give it up long before now. But Harry also thought that he could honor that daring and that fierce devotion to raising his son and trying to find some space for himself at the same time. He didn't want to discourage it. Malfoy could be a good person, and there were too few good people in the world. Harry firmly believed that was a large part of the reason the war had happened.

And he could be a good role model for Scorpius, besides.

So Harry went to owl Neville and ask when he could come by Hogwarts and look at the library books for pure-blood customs. As a favor to a friend.


	6. Researches in Libraries

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Researches in Libraries_

"You know that you're always welcome, mate." Neville's voice was low and slow, and he stood there with his arms folded behind his desk. Harry looked at him, wondering what was wrong, and Neville continued, "But you're doing this for _Malfoy? _Because he's been doing weird things around you?"

"He's been claiming these pure-blood customs give him the right to give me gifts and treat me to lunch and come to lunch at my house and confuse the hell out of me," Harry corrected him. "He said that I should make the proper response to the last gift he gave me, and to do that, I need to look up pure-blood customs. This is the best place."

"What was the last gift?" Neville looked as if he was about to charge out and hunt Malfoy down at the point of a wand.

Harry lifted a hand. Maybe Neville thought Malfoy had disturbed George too much. He was George's friend, too, and Harry knew George often firecalled Neville to listen to the latest reports of pranks discovered in Hogwarts. "A mirror. He enchanted it so that I would know when I was exhausted or sick. Magically exhausted, too. He has a bee up his arse about that. He came to lunch at my house right after I'd been taking care of Ron because he got hit by that Disease Curse."

Neville slowly relaxed, muscle by muscle, in his shoulders. He had grown taller and stronger even than Ron, and Harry sometimes forgot what an intimidating sight he made. It probably helped him to subdue students who thought the youngest Hogwarts Headmaster in centuries was easy to get around, if they didn't already respect him because Neville had put more labor into rebuilding and improving the school in the last ten years than everyone else put together. "A mirror is all right."

"All right?" Harry touched the pocket where he'd put the mirror. He was carrying it around with him, although he'd had to cast some protective enchantments on his clothes so it wouldn't break if it jounced against something. "I think it's pretty bloody impressive that he put so much work into it, actually."

"I mean, it's not like it was jewelry," said Neville. "That would be bad."

"Why?" Harry threw up his hands when Neville hesitated to tell him. "Are you saying that these customs really _exist? _I thought Malfoy was making them up as an excuse to spend time with me."

"He might have made up some of them," said Neville, and sent Harry the look Harry would have bet he used on children caught with banned Wheezes. "But a gift that you use your own magic on is serious. A mirror is a good gift, a thoughtful one, but near the bottom."

"Of _what_?"

"The hierarchy of gifts that you give someone you want to be intimate with," Neville said. "Jewelry is near the top. It indicates that he would be contemplating—well, marriage or something of the kind. There are gifts that ask for protection over children, or for a truce, or an alliance, or deeper friendship. Maybe you were never the sort of friends who fought beside each other in battle. The gifts that you give can ask for that."

Harry shook his head, dazed. He had thought a present was just a present. Maybe Malfoy was giving it to be polite.

But then again, Malfoy had said that he had seized on the chance to get close to one person who treated him decently. He had been telling the truth all along, but also teasing Harry, kind of enjoying the fact that he didn't know anything about pure-blood customs and would accept anything Malfoy offered just because it was a gift.

_Thank fuck it wasn't a ring, or anything. _That was because, if Harry found out afterwards that he had accepted a weird marriage proposal or something, in Malfoy's eyes and the eyes of some other people, just by accepting a gift, Scorpius would have been an orphan_. _And Harry would have hated that.

"Fine," said Harry. "What does a mirror ask for?"

"A mirror that you used your own magic for?" Neville shrugged helplessly. "Honestly, I don't know. It wasn't something I ever expected to use. Gran made sure that I knew those customs more because she thought it was the sort of thing I _should _know." Neville looked out the window for a second, which showed a steady fall of rain. "I know that Gran wants me to be proud of being a pure-blood and all, but I am going to choose my _own _spouse and my _own _friends."

Harry put a hand on Neville's arm in silence. He knew that Neville had quarreled with his grandmother a few months ago and things had been bad between him and Augusta since, but Harry hadn't known what about. This might be it.

Neville shook himself and came back to the present. "But this is a combination of a mirror, which doesn't mean much, traditionally, and his own magic, which is more special. You probably do need to go and look it up in a book to find out."

"Great," Harry said, drawing the word out to make Neville grin. "Fine. Thanks for letting me use the library. I'll see you later." Then he paused dramatically and pointed his finger at Neville. "And part of you choosing your own friends is that they get to choose _you_, too. I hereby invite you to come over to my house tomorrow and watch one of those concerts you like on the telly. You'd better not be late."

Neville's smile was a remarkable thing. "I won't be late, if you tell me the time."

"Nine-o'clock," Harry said, and waved his hand like Malfoy would, and left Neville laughing.

* * *

Harry rolled his eyes and laid the book aside. _I think a lot of these pure-bloods just made up these customs so they could laugh silently over Muggleborns taking them seriously._

Why would a certain kind of dinner that lasted two hours count as a marriage proposal but one that lasted three hours was a declaration of hostilities between two families? Why would it matter if you were served chicken or fish? Why was a bracelet a more serious gift than a ring? The books Harry found explained the customs and what the gifts meant, but not why anyone would be mental enough to follow them, or how they had come to be in the first place.

_I want to go along with this, _Harry thought, as he took up yet another tome. _I do want to be Malfoy's friend. But fuck if I'm going to be his husband or his patsy or obey these customs if they actually go against something I believe in._

He was no mental pure-blood. If Malfoy tried to say that he should be, Harry was going to wave his Muggle relatives around like a shield. Malfoy had once put a lot of emphasis on blood, even if he didn't now. Harry would point out that he wasn't "pure" day and night if it would get him out of a silly situation.

The next book was at least about the "hierarchy" of gifts that Neville had mentioned, and had a whole chart of crossing possibilities, talking about what a gift meant when it was made of certain materials. Harry sat up more alertly and turned the pages. _Here_, he thought, he would find out what a mirror made of glass but also enchanted with the creator's own magic meant.

It still took him a long time to find it. At first, all the charts seemed to assume that the mirrors were made of glass, but then Harry caught a reference to silver and realized he was assuming that pure-bloods were sane. And more experience with the books ought to have taught him they weren't. He sighed and went back.

So. Glass mirrors where someone had enchanted them with their own magic but they had bought the glass. And no frame. That was what he was looking for.

It still took him a long time to squeeze his way through the charts, but he finally found a little mention of it off to the side in one of the charts. _A glass mirror without a frame_ was listed, and there were options for the magic, and the kinds of magic. Harry flipped pages, frowning and grumbling at the small type.

The first line of description didn't really reassure him.

_An exclusive friendship._

Harry scowled. If that meant he wasn't supposed to be friends with anyone else, then no, thank you.

But he went ahead and read the description before he dismissed it. So far, several of the things Malfoy had done had turned out to be more reasonable and less capricious than Harry had thought they were.

_An exclusive friendship declares that the giver of the gift desires a friendship which will include certain aspects not covered by either the gifter's or the giftee's current friendships. If one has only casual friends, this is an invitation to a deep friendship. If one's friends all live mostly on the other side of the world, this will be an invitation from someone who lives close. The enchantments placed on the mirror given as a gift will give a clue as to the nature of the relationship and closeness desired._

Harry rolled his eyes. Even he, with his almost-zero knowledge of pure-blood culture, didn't have to concentrate long to figure that out. Malfoy thought his friends didn't care enough about his health, so he had given Harry a mirror that would.

Not that that told Harry whether this was a friendship he really wanted, or what Malfoy wanted in return. Did he want to be the caretaker, or did he want Harry also to interest himself in Malfoy's health? And what kind of basis was health for a friendship, anyway? Harry would have been bored as hell if his friendships had only concerned nightmares and trauma from the war. They might look that way to Malfoy because of what he had seen, but he was on the outside. He didn't know the truth.

_And what kind of friendship is it to scold each other when we're sick and say "Fine, thanks," when we're feeling well?_

Scowling a little, Harry began to flip through the pages of the book looking for the gift that he was supposed to give in return. He wondered if there was anything that would say, "I'd like to be your friend, but I don't want to just talk about being sick all the time."

And then it turned out there was.

Harry leaned back from the book and laughed long enough to make Madam Pince come around the corner and frown at him. _Fucking pure-bloods._

* * *

"Potter, you really shouldn't have."

Harry paused. He had come to Malfoy Manor's gates after owling to make sure that it was okay and Malfoy would be at home and willing to receive him. He'd thought that was the polite thing to do.

And now Malfoy was standing at the gates, his lips twisting as he stared at the red box in Harry's arms. He had one hand on the bars of the gates, but he hadn't opened them yet. He gave a swift glance at Harry's face, then turned away.

Obviously, Harry had done something wrong. Maybe it was the size of the box. Maybe it was the day he had shown up; maybe the moon was in Scorpio or something. Maybe Malfoy had meant something else with that gift after all and Harry had been wrong that he wanted a present in return.

Either way, any way, Harry was suddenly violently disgusted. _Fucking pure-bloods._

"Fine," he said shortly, since Malfoy was walking away from him up the path that led to the Manor and showed no sign of opening the gates to let Harry in. "Then I'll leave it here, and you can take it or burn it or fuck yourself with it. I don't care." He dropped the red-wrapped box on the ground and turned to Apparate.

"Wait!"

That was Malfoy, hurrying back towards him and wildly waving his hands. At least he looked like a human being instead of a polished statue now. Harry folded his arms and stared at him.

"Saying that you shouldn't have is a polite convention." Malfoy's face was pink. "It doesn't mean I was rejecting you!"

"And turning your back on me and walking away behind your _locked _gates, after you looked at my gift like it was a flobberworm?"

Malfoy's face turned from pink to red. "The gates are open," he muttered. "I thought you'd open them and follow me."

Harry flung one hand across his brow. "Without an _invitation? _All those books said that was horribly rude, Malfoy. And you seem to care what books say."

Malfoy did some more scowling. Then he lowered his gaze to the box. "Did you discover what I was trying to say with the mirror?"

"Something about an exclusive friendship and health." Harry leaned one shoulder hard against the gates. They gave a little—they weren't locked—but then straightened against his pressure. Yes, they were still blocked with magic. Harry rolled his eyes, and he didn't do it subtly. "But I'm not interested in talking nothing but magical exhaustion and sicknesses with you. It sounds boring."

Malfoy winced a little, openly stricken. Harry watched him critically. So he was stricken. That didn't mean he was the right choice for a friend. He might be stricken by the way that Harry was disparaging his precious pure-blood customs, instead of anything that related to Harry himself.

"No," Malfoy whispered. "It was a silver mirror. Not glass, Potter."

"You _said _it was glass!" Harry yelled. He could feel his temper waking up, something it didn't do much anymore. But for Merlin's sake, he was sick of these games. He had admired Malfoy's courage in coming up to him and trying to claim a friendship, but he didn't admire the way he hid behind customs and teased Harry to find out about them and then was horrified when he didn't get it exactly right. "I don't know what you _want, _Malfoy! Why can't you say it like anyone else?"

"Because it would sound silly."

That pulled Harry up a bit. Malfoy's face did look as red as if he had taken a steam bath. But Harry couldn't recall what he had read about silver mirrors, and he wasn't about to go back to Hogwarts and look it up to make Malfoy comfortable.

"Fine," said Harry. "I promise I won't laugh. But tell me what you want, because I looked up what a mirror made of glass you bought but didn't enchant and used your own magic on would mean, and it wasn't what you meant, and I'm sorry, but talking about glass was deliberately misleading me."

"Not deliberately." Malfoy sighed and faced him, and at least Harry trusted the weary look in his eyes. "I want a friendship with you where you do things with me you don't do with anyone else."

"That's impossible," said Harry automatically. "I visit with all of my friends and talk to them and connect with their kids when they have them. I can't give you anything that I haven't already given to someone else."

"But you haven't started over with anyone else, have you?" Malfoy took a step up to the gates as though he was going to pass right through them without bothering to open them. "You haven't reconciled with them and looked up pure-blood customs for them? You haven't learned a new way of life with them?"

Harry cocked his head, intrigued. "So you're, what, asking for my pure-blood custom friendship-virginity?"

Malfoy laughed, and then looked surprised at himself for laughing. You were probably only supposed to do it for two seconds and then at a certain pitch, Harry thought.

"Yes," said Malfoy. "I think—this is the best way that I know of reaching out to someone new, Potter. The customs guide certain things and mean certain things are true. Otherwise, I would be far too terrified of making a mistake to reach out to you at all."

Harry looked at him thoughtfully. "Fine, but I don't think it'll work anyway, if you get angry at me for not knowing things you already know."

"Get to know me as an adult," said Malfoy. "The customs are—you can learn them, I'd like to teach them to you, but they're a side-note. This is a chance to get to know someone who you knew as a child and didn't really understand. For both of us," he added, when Harry opened his mouth to contest who didn't know _who _here.

Harry held back the comment. He had known that Malfoy had grown up and paid his debt with a year in Azkaban. He had thought Malfoy was afraid of a lot of things when he was a kid, and Malfoy had just admitted that was still true as an adult.

But he understood what Malfoy was saying. And honestly, it didn't sound bad. It sounded interesting, getting to spend time with Scorpius and someone who was so different from any of Harry's other friends that it was hard to predict how he'd react. More friends wasn't a bad thing if he didn't make Harry abandon any of the friends he already had.

Harry wanted one thing to be clear, though.

"As long as you don't tease me with a custom again," he said. "No more saying that mirrors are glass if they're silver. No more being disappointed because I don't understand something the first time. No more thinking I'll know what to do when I've never heard of this custom in my life." He paused, considering Malfoy. "No more acting like I should be pure-blood already, when I'm not."

Malfoy nodded once, firmly. "Then do you want to come in? I suppose I owe you something in return for not making the purpose of my gift clear."

"I suppose you do," said Harry, and ambled through the gates. He refused to think of what Ron and Hermione and George would say when they found out that he'd visited Malfoy. They were a huge part of his life, but not the whole thing, and they weren't here right now. Harry was the one on the spot, who had to make the decisions.

_And a little willingness on either side isn't a bad thing._


	7. Inside Malfoy Manor

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Seven—Inside Malfoy Manor_

"Mr. Potter! You came to visit!"

Scorpius's face was almost incandescent as he ran towards Harry, across the floor of an enormous dining room that had only a tiny round table with a few chairs in the corner. Malfoy had been leading Harry on a kind of tour, but he stopped now, and Harry dropped down to Scorpius's level so he could reach out his arms.

_If that's okay. _But a check on Malfoy from the corner of Harry's eye showed him benignly smiling, so it seemed to be.

Scorpius surprised Harry by not only running into his arms but hugging him back, tightly enough that Harry wheezed. Then he sprinted away and grabbed Harry's arm. "This is only the dining room, we can eat anywhere," he said, waving his hand. "I want you to see my room! Come on!"

"Did you ask permission to show Mr. Potter your rooms, Scorpius?" Malfoy asked, in a mild enough tone that Harry didn't know what he meant at first, and thought maybe there were house-elves cleaning Scorpius's rooms who needed advance notice.

But Scorpius sighed and turned to face his father. "Please may I show Mr. Potter my rooms?"

"Yes," said Malfoy, after a long pause in which Harry wondered if Malfoy was trying to punish Harry or Scorpius by withholding permission. "Next time, however, please don't interrupt me in the middle of a sentence."

Scorpius nodded without looking horrified, which Harry thought was probably the best outcome for all concerned, and dragged Harry towards the far side of the dining room again. Harry went with him, looking back and forth. Honestly, you could set up a Quidditch pitch in this room and only have to slow down the brooms a little.

He presumed there was some reason for the absence of one of the fancy long tables like he would have expected the Malfoys to have, but when he looked over at Malfoy, there was a tight expression on his face that prevented Harry from asking.

* * *

Scorpius's room turned out to be more like _rooms_: a bathroom, a bedroom, a playroom that probably had a fancier name like "Nursery of the Malfoy Heirs," and a wardrobe that took up more space than Harry's kitchen. Harry noticed that everything was done in light blue and green. He wondered if Malfoy or Scorpius had picked that out, but saw that the wardrobe, which Scorpius jerked open to take out Golden, was filled with blue-green robes, too. Well, Scorpius probably didn't mind the color, at least.

"I know how to make him do _everything_," said Scorpius, turning around with Golden in his hands. "Except fly backwards. How do you do that, Mr. Potter?"

"You can't do that with this bird," Harry said, bending down to study Golden and make sure he had that right. Yes, it was. George had invented a few birds later that could do more complicated things, but Scorpius's model was an earlier one that had only simple flight and the other tricks Scorpius had discovered already.

Scorpius stared at him, then looked miserably down at Golden. Harry sighed. "I can get you another bird that does that," he offered.

"I don't want another bird," said Scorpius, in a deep, soulful voice that reminded Harry of how fiercely he had been attached to his own few, pathetic toys as a child. "I want Golden to do that. I want him to do _everything_."

"Let's see, then," said Harry, and took Golden away to look at it. Scorpius hovered nearby, and Malfoy was in the doorway. Harry knew that without turning his head. Sometimes instincts one didn't really want lingered.

The more Harry studied the bird, the more certain he was. He _could _make Golden fly backwards, if that was what Scorpius wanted, but it would involve casting a spell on the bird. He didn't know if Scorpius would want that when he seemed to see the bird as its own independent entity.

"How do you feel about me using magic on Golden to make him fly backwards?" he asked, one eye on Scorpius to see if there was any anger in his face.

But Scorpius only smiled. "Can you do that? What spell would you use to make a bird fly backwards?" He glanced over his shoulder at Malfoy. "Daddy hasn't shown me that one yet!"

"It's not a spell that you would need often," Malfoy murmured. Harry, taking out his wand, hesitated a moment. Malfoy sounded almost defensive.

Maybe he didn't like Harry getting close to his son, either.

But Harry had already made a promise, and he was going to keep it. "He's right, it's not common," he told Scorpius, and then tapped his wand in the middle of the bird's back, accessing the flow of magic that he and George had created in the first place to make the bird fly at an owner's commands—as long as they were polite. The flow needed to be altered in a few places, there and there and _there_. Harry stepped back and extended Golden to Scorpius again. "There. Now try it and see if he'll fly backwards."

Scorpius held Golden up, his eyes fastened on the bird, absolutely enthralled, and said, "Golden, fly _backwards, _please." Then he tossed it up into the air.

Harry realized he was holding his breath. He shook his head, annoyed at himself. If this didn't work, he would just tinker with the bird until it did. It wasn't like this was the only chance he would ever have to gratify Scorpius.

But Golden jerked, hesitated, and then began to row in a smooth reverse circle over Scorpius's head. Scorpius laughed and lifted his hands to catch it, but the bird zoomed faster than he'd apparently reckoned on, and Scorpius had to charge after it. Harry relaxed when he saw that, smiling.

"Thank you."

Harry cocked his head. He'd been involved enough in watching Scorpius that he hadn't really noticed Malfoy moving up behind him. "You're welcome."

"You are absurdly good with children for having none of your own." Malfoy spoke without taking his eyes off his son, his fingers flicking and dancing as though he assumed he would have to intervene and take the bird away. Harry shook his head tolerantly. Malfoy was a bit overprotective, not that Harry was going to tell him that to his face. "Or do you play with your godson often enough for that?" His gaze came back to Harry's face as if it had never left.

"Yes, I play with Teddy a lot, although he's older than Scorpius," said Harry. "And I think Teddy would like to meet his cousins."

Malfoy jerked as if Harry had slapped him. Then he murmured, "My mother cut off contact with my aunt years ago."

"So what? You aren't your mum." Harry paused, as a more complex and disturbing thought came to him. "Or do you still think Teddy is rubbish because his grandfather was a Muggleborn and his father was a werewolf?"

"You have no idea what I want and what I believe."

"Yes, I do," Harry disagreed. "I know that you want the best for Scorpius, and you want my friendship. I know you cling to these pure-blood customs not because you believe in them, but because they give you a structure, and advice on how to react. That's the most straightforward explanation for what's happening with you, and the explanation I can accept best."

Malfoy jerked again, stared at him, and then said, "I don't believe in blood purity."

"Then what's your objection to introducing Scorpius to Teddy?"

"He would want to know why he never met him before. And how do I know that your Lupin would be kind to him?"

"You're not that much of a coward that you can't face up to a kid's questions, especially not if you sought me out," Harry said firmly. "And Teddy is kind to and interested in anybody I bring to play with him. But I think that he would be especially interested to meet blood kin. He's used to not having any except Andromeda. Even if he ended up not being best friends with Scorpius, he wouldn't mistreat him."

Malfoy was silent again, watching as Scorpius caught Golden and made him fly in circles, glancing over to make sure that they were watching him. Harry nodded reassuringly to him, which made Scorpius beam and take off again.

"I—may have lied to Scorpius more than not simply taking him to visit his relatives," Malfoy murmured. "I may have—told him that none of his relatives on his mother's side were left alive."

Harry closed his eyes. The words struck him harder than he thought Malfoy could know; they sounded like something the Dursleys might have said, if Harry had had any living family left besides them and they knew about it.

"Are you ashamed enough of that to make good now?" he asked instead. "Teddy and Scorpius should know each other."

"I notice that _you _never contacted me and proposed this before now."

"Because I thought there was no way in hell that you would agree to it," Harry said simply.

Malfoy hesitated again. Then he muttered, "All right. Scorpius will meet his cousin and his—his great-aunt. But give me a little while to tell him."

Harry nodded, and squeezed Malfoy's hand, and said no more. It had occurred to him as he spoke that Malfoy would also be meeting his aunt and one of his cousins, but he might not like to have Harry notice that, what with his touchy pride. Harry could let it go for now.

* * *

Lunch was delicious, sparkling fish baked and glazed and salted in a way that Harry had never tasted before, carried in by the house-elves on platters and in different ways until Harry had to fling his hands up in self-defense. Scorpius, who was sitting at the head of the table with Malfoy beside him and watching him, laughed.

"You can't eat anymore, Mr. Potter?" Scorpius himself was eating from plates little by little, Harry thought, which was the reason he wasn't full yet. And Malfoy ate enough to seem substantial but not enough to fill him up. Harry decided that was probably due to special training Malfoy had received as a child. Harry's training as a child regarding food had been rather different.

Harry leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. "No, it's too much," he said. "But it's very good, and I look forward to having lunch here sometime in the future."

He looked directly at Malfoy as he spoke, and saw Malfoy flush. Well. Hard to tell from that whether he intended to invite Harry back in the future or not, although Harry assumed he would, if only to gratify Scorpius. Malfoy toyed with a glass and looked away instead, so Harry drank from his own glass of water and tried to answer Scorpius's questions about running a prank shop.

"No, it's not that exciting. We don't have explosions all the time," Harry finally said, and Scorpius looked so disappointed that he laughed. "Would you _want _to work in a place that has explosions all the time?"

"Yes," said Scorpius firmly. "I only saw one explosion in Daddy's lab, but it was fun!"

Harry couldn't keep his eyes from darting over to Malfoy's face, even though he had made himself that private promise to try and leave Malfoy alone. He wasn't sure what surprised him more, that Malfoy could make _mistakes _brewing potions or that he had allowed Scorpius into the lab to watch them.

"Since that explosion, I've kept Scorpius at a safe distance," said Malfoy at his most formal, apparently deciding that Harry blamed him for Scorpius ever being in danger at all. "And I have told him that he _cannot _observe me without alerting me that he was there. I saw him from the corner of my eye and got distracted."

"No, that's a good idea," Harry agreed. "I wouldn't want a kid too near while we were making the pranks that could explode."

"But why can you be in danger and I can't?" Scorpius turned around and stared at him. "Daddy said that you were in danger all the time! If you could be in danger when you were a kid, _I _should be able to!"

Harry blinked a couple of times, and wondered what stories Malfoy _had _been telling Scorpius. He wasn't saying anything right now, and Harry had to be the one to answer the question, since Malfoy wasn't stepping forwards to volunteer. "I wasn't in danger when I was your age. And I was only in danger at Hogwarts because the Dark Lord kept trying to kill me."

"You mean Voldemort?"

Harry jerked a little. He hadn't expected Malfoy to use the name with his son. Malfoy had changed more than he'd thought.

Malfoy gave him a tight little smile and gestured back at Scorpius, so Harry turned around to study him. "Yes, I mean Voldemort," said Harry. "But he only started hunting me after I came into the wizarding world, you know. That was when I was eleven. I grew up in the Muggle world until then, and I was perfectly safe."

"_Muggles_?" Scorpius wriggled closer to him. "Do they have all these inventions that you can talk to? Daddy says they do!"

So Harry spent part of the afternoon trying to explain to Scorpius how phones worked, and how they were similar to and different from firecalls, and what a telly was, and even a bit about computers, although Harry himself wasn't that familiar with those. Dudley had only got a computer and really used it after Harry started going to Hogwarts. When he was back, it wasn't like he got to touch it.

But what little he could tell Scorpius seemed to fascinate him, and sometimes Scorpius said something about wishing he was a Muggle. Malfoy just sat by and listened to that without comment. Harry approved. He really had matured. He probably knew that Scorpius would never want to give up magic.

"That sounds _wonderful_," said Scorpius, when Harry had finally come up with the last bit of information he had on computers. He leaned his head on the table and sighed. "You've had a lot of adventures, haven't you, Mr. Potter?"

"When I was a kid, and in the war," said Harry. "Not so many since the war."

"But you work in a shop with _explosions_."

Since that was true, Harry couldn't really argue. He was casting around for something else to talk about when Malfoy interrupted with a soft murmur, "Weren't you going to finish that writing practice for me today, Scorpius?"

Scorpius jumped the way Harry had when he heard Voldemort's name. Then he turned and looked pleadingly at his father. "But Mr. Potter came over! And I can learn how to write anytime."

"You're learning how to write _now_," said Malfoy. "I told you when I said you could stay at home for school that you had to keep up with your writing and homework."

Scorpius looked as if he would pout, but Malfoy raised his eyebrows, and Scorpius sighed and said, "_Fine_." He turned to Harry and held out his hand. "It was nice seeing you again, Mr. Potter." He paused. "Will you come over again?"

Harry shook his hand and smiled. "Yes, I will. I have to eat lunch here again and see if I can finish it this time, remember?"

Scorpius brightened. "Oh, right! I hope you do." He ran out of the room, calling for "Misty." Harry assumed that was a house-elf who was supposed to help him with his education.

"So."

Harry turned back to Malfoy and stood up. "That's my cue to leave, too, isn't it?"

"I do want Scorpius to work on his writing," Malfoy said, his eyes clear but burning. "I don't want him behind when he goes to Hogwarts." He stood up, gracefully enough. "But before you leave, there's the little matter of the gift you bought me. I noticed you left it sitting at my gates."

Harry blinked. "Yeah? It was the wrong gift. I thought you were trying to tell me that you wanted a special friendship based on talking about our health, and I think that's boring. So I brought a gift that would tell you that while still claiming friendship, but you were trying to say something different with a silver mirror. Why would you want a mistaken gift?"

"It creates an obligation," said Malfoy. "This time, I am obliged to repay you for the time and energy, and perhaps money, you invested in a mistaken gift. But for that, I need to know what it is."

Harry looked at him narrowly, then snorted. "And you might want to see it, after all," he said, and then Summoned the box before Malfoy could say anything. The present settled into his arms, and Harry nodded and presented it gravely to Malfoy.

Malfoy took it and looked as if he barely resisted shaking it. Then he undid the bow on the top with shaking fingers. Harry leaned back. He was going to enjoy this.

Malfoy silently lifted out the mechanical butterfly inside, a lot like Scorpius's bird, but made of blue-painted steel rather than golden. Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, and the butterfly fluttered its wings and said in a chiming voice, "_You've done a good job raising your son. But why did you never give him bacon?"_

Malfoy stared between Harry and the butterfly. "How did you do that?" he whispered.

Harry grinned. "You forget that I make pranks for a living. It was pretty easy to enchant this butterfly to say certain phrases that applied to you instead of anyone who might purchase it."

"But it doesn't sound like your voice." Malfoy turned the butterfly back and forth, seeming to admire the intense blue and black of the wings. Harry had picked the colors because he liked them and sometimes saw them in butterflies he admired, but he hadn't known Malfoy would like them, too.

"No. The butterfly gets an enchanted voice, and then I spell it to repeat certain things I say."

Again Malfoy gave him an intense look, and then he nodded and lowered the butterfly to the table. "I'll keep it, then. But expect another gift in a week."

"One with a special meaning, this time?" Harry murmured.

"The special meaning will be embedded in what it is. Custom is satisfied by me returning the obligation."

Harry was grinning as he shook Malfoy's hand, too, and left. Perhaps Malfoy could be annoying and controlling at times, but he was a pretty good father, and he might be a pretty good friend.


	8. The Petty and the Great

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_The Petty and the Great_

"George tells me that you went to Malfoy Manor today."

Harry raised his eyebrows and picked up Rose, who had dashed across the kitchen to him the minute she saw him. She always wanted to be picked up and swung around, and Ron was still too weak to do that for her. "It seems that my great news has preceded me," he said in sepulchral tones, and then began to spin with Rose in a circle. She laughed, her hair flying behind her.

"Why would you do something like that?" Hermione's voice was quiet, and she kept her back turned as she worked at chopping some kind of vegetable onto a plate.

"Because I went there in good faith, carrying what I thought was the next gift in this series of silly pure-blood customs he was telling me existed," Harry replied, and stood Rose on a chair. His arms were getting tired, but he could play another game she liked. He peered sternly into her eyes, and she started biting her lip, trying futilely not to giggle. "It turned out it was the wrong gift, but Malfoy invited me inside anyway. It wasn't polite to refuse."

"But you knew what it would do to me." Hermione's head was still turned away from him, but her voice had gone fragile in a way that told Harry exactly what expression she would wear. The tired, haunted one she had when she awoke from the nightmares where Bellatrix Lestrange still tortured her.

"I knew you wouldn't like me doing it," Harry said. He wasn't going to agree that simply walking through the gates of Malfoy Manor had somehow hurt Hermione, because that wasn't true. If it was, then being friends with Malfoy would also have done it. He ruffled Rose's hair back from her ears, and she leaned against him, giggling. "But I'll never ask you to go there. I'll never even talk to you about being there, if you don't want me to."

"_You still went there._"

Harry sighed and settled Rose back on the floor. This was going to be one of _those _conversations. "Rose, why don't you go to your room and find that yellow bird I gave you?" That was one of the birds like Scorpius's Golden, but Rose was really too young to play with it on her own. "Bring it here, and we'll fly it."

Rose clapped her hands and bolted out of the kitchen. Harry watched her go fondly. She wasn't talking much yet, but she got her point across without it.

He stood up and turned to Hermione, who was looking at him with a pale face probably gone paler since Ron's illness. Harry felt sorry for her. He wanted to help her. He wanted to make sure that Ron being sick wasn't too hard on her and Rose.

But he wasn't going to live his life in perfect accord with the way she wanted him to. He had had minor conflicts with George and Ron in the past about that, especially when he didn't join the Aurors the way Ron had wanted him to and when he wouldn't leave George alone in high places on the anniversary of Fred's death. Only circumstances had kept him from having to confront Hermione about something like that before now.

He lived his life to help his friends, but he didn't live it for them. It was a distinction that Harry thought had escaped Malfoy, and maybe even Hermione until this moment.

"I'm not going to ask you to associate with Malfoy and Scorpius," Harry said. Hermione even flinched when he said the name of Malfoy's son, as if it was the name of a disease that would stalk her. Harry held back a sigh of disgust. "I'll never talk about them to you. You don't have to know anything about them."

"You're still associating with them," Hermione said, and turned away to wash her hands.

"I mention the name Lestrange," Harry said, his voice growing a little harsher. He had tried to help Hermione in the past by talking to her about his own nightmares after fifth year, the ones where Bellatrix killed Sirius bloodily in front of Harry instead of simply casting him through the Veil. Hermione hadn't been able to stand it, but she had been okay with Harry saying the name "Lestrange" when they worked through her nightmares. "And she was the one who actually tortured you. Why should going to Malfoy Manor be a deal-breaker?"

"I was tortured there!" Hermione slammed down the knife she'd been using to cut the vegetables and turned around. "We were all held prisoner there! I don't know how you can walk through those fucking gates _yourself!"_

Harry glared at her. "No," he said.

"No what?" He took Hermione aback enough that she blinked at him a little.

"You don't get to depend on my greater resilience and my immunity to nightmares part of the time, and then say I _should _have it the rest," Harry told her firmly. "I'll help you, and I've never asked for help with my own dreams or memories, because they're not that severe. But you don't get to depend on me being strong for you and then tell me I'm insensitive. Not how it works."

Hermione's mouth worked, and her hand trembled. She reached for the knife again, but had to step back and cradle her hands to her breast. "And you've never accused _me _of being insensitive before," she whispered.

"Yes, I have. That time just after Rose was born when you were yelling at Ron for ever getting you pregnant and how it would be better if both of you were dead, remember? When he was working that case with all those dead pregnant women and children. Damn right I told you off and took Rose for a week."

Hermione shuddered and held her hands to her face. "I'm sorry that not all of us are as strong as you are and want to make up with our mortal enemies," she whispered.

"I would never ask you to make up with the Malfoys," Harry said. Rose came dashing back into the kitchen. Harry was a little surprised she had been able to find the golden bird so fast when her room was so crowded with toys, but he bent down and gravely took it from her. "Watch, Rose. Please fly for me, great bird."

The bird's wings fluttered, and it sprang out of his hold and buzzed weakly around the room. Rose stood still and tilted her head back to watch it fly instead of running after it the way Scorpius had. That was another observation that Harry didn't think he would mention in front of Hermione.

"Just knowing that you're making up to them…"

"And if I told you that I was serving Pansy Parkinson? That I did that the other day? And a load of fireworks to set off at Blaise Zabini's wedding?" Wisely, Zabini had contacted Harry to fulfill that order instead of George, but he had still contacted him. "Would you feel the same way?"

Hermione stared at him with stricken eyes. "Not as bad as Malfoy—Harry, he insulted me. And I was tortured in his Manor."

"So was he," Harry told her quietly. "Look, Hermione, I already told you that I don't ever plan on asking you to meet him or talk to him. I won't pretend that I'm going to ignore him and his son for the rest of our time on Earth because of that. I'm going to protect you and your memories of torture." He stood up to hug her. "Don't ask more of me than that."

Hermione leaned on him and began to cry a second later. "I hate being so _weak_," she whispered.

"You're not weak," Harry whispered, and stroked her hair back. "Trauma just hits us in different ways, that's all." He still woke up in a cold sweat if he hit the wall with his hand, sometimes, thinking he was back in the cupboard. He'd finally had to move his bed away from all walls so it stood in the middle of the room. "Ron's hits him in different ways yet, and George's. It's different trauma. That's the way things are."

Hermione gave him a feeble punch in the shoulder. "You're not supposed to be the wise one. _I'm _supposed to be the wise one."

Harry murmured for her to hush and embraced her, and went on rocking her long past the point where Rose wanted to be picked up. He just held Rose with one arm and Hermione with the other, and used a charm that made the knife start cutting up the vegetables. He did have to let go of Hermione long enough that she could tell him what she planned to do with them.

Ron came home not long after, and they ate dinner together; the vegetables turned out to be for one of those salads that looked too awful and crisp to be real, but were fine once Harry added some other ingredients. Ron said nothing about Harry visiting Malfoy Manor, other than to give him one deep, grave look.

"I hope you know what you're doing, mate," he said.

Harry gave him a peaceful smile back, because he didn't want to start a lecture on how not knowing what he was doing was part of the attraction, and changed the subject.

* * *

"Malfoy scarred my brother."

"Yes, I remember that," said Harry, and held up the small wheel he was working on to the light. It was supposed to look like a fallen-off part of a child's toy, and light up with blazing blindness once someone stooped over to pick it up. But Harry had started having a different idea for it. Pity that the idea had come to him in a dream and he didn't remember it properly. Turning the wheel in different directions and looking at it from different angles might help him remember.

"Malfoy was responsible for torturing Hermione."

"That was Bellatrix Lestrange, actually." Harry put the wheel down and shook his head. He wasn't going to remember his dream. He really should start keeping a pad of paper and a quill next to his bed, the way George did.

"Same family!"

"It depends," said Harry, standing up to put the wheel back in its display. "Bellatrix Lestrange was a Lestrange, or a Black depending on whether you want to think about where she was born. But Malfoy was born a Malfoy. I assumed you knew that from the way you keep spitting his name."

"_Harry_." George was all but yelling at him now, one hand clasping his arm.

Harry turned around and met George's eyes. "Let go, George," he said. The hold on his arm had tightened past funny to painful, and Harry wasn't about to put up with that. There were ways that he could help his friends with his trauma, and ways that he refused to. "_Let go_," he repeated, when George just stared at him.

George dropped his arm and stalked over to the far side of the shop. Harry took his hand off his wand.

"How can you be so friendly with someone who hurt my family?" George whispered to the far wall.

"Because it's been ten years since the war," Harry said. Looking at it from the outside, Harry thought, it was no wonder that Malfoy had come to the conclusion that Harry was the slave of his friends. Someone would look at George still being affected that strongly by the war, and decide that he wasn't healthy. What Harry and his friends knew—even if they sometimes forgot—was that Harry had his limits, things he wouldn't do for them and wouldn't be pushed beyond. Friendship with Malfoy was another one of those limits. It just hadn't come up before. "Malfoy was sentenced to a year in Azkaban for what he did to Bill, among other things. If that's not enough to pay for what he did, what is?"

"He called Hermione a Mudblood!"

"And if he said that word, I'd punch him in the mouth," Harry agreed calmly. "My mother fits the same category. If he said that word, it would be a sign that he hasn't really changed, and I wouldn't want to spend any more time around him, either."

"Then why are you still there?" George spun in place and stared at him.

"_If _he said the word," Harry said. "If denoting hypothetical situations. _If _he said it, then yeah, I would punch him in the mouth and walk away. _If _you were this much of a prat all the time, then I wouldn't work with you. You see how it works?"

George looked at the floor. "I wish Fred was here."

The sound of that whisper disarmed Harry—and he didn't think George had done it on purpose. Sometimes, it just slipped out, how lonely George was, how much he wished the world still contained his twin. He stepped up beside George and put an arm around his shoulders. "I know," he whispered into his ear. "And I would trade so many things for him."

George leaned against him, swaying. Then he pulled back and coughed. "Would you mind holding the shop for me today, Harry? I think I have to go home. I said some things I shouldn't have."

Harry nodded. It was as close to an apology as George could give him right now, when he had so much else going on in his head. "Sure. Go home and rest."

George gave him a wan smile and went to the fireplace, disappearing into it. Harry hid his sigh and Summoned the lunch he'd brought with him, leftover salad from Ron and Hermione's last night mingled with some blackberries he'd bought that morning. Under a Preservation Charm, all of it was still deliciously fresh.

As he ate, he went over his visit to Malfoy Manor in his head again, and wondered if he had made the wrong decision by going there. It had certainly cost him in trouble and strife with his friends. And Malfoy might never want to invite him over again, if Harry made the wrong response to a pure-blood custom sometime in the future.

But he ended up deciding that yes, it had been worth it. Trouble and strife were what he had a lot with his friends anyway, even if it was just him trying to get them to do something they were afraid to do and them arguing with him. And he had established those inner limits for himself years ago, as a way to keep from getting overwhelmed. He loved his friends. He would help them all he could.

He wouldn't become their servant, or their extension. If they wanted to live their lives the way they were doing forever, fine; Harry knew he could coax them to go out and do more, but they were the ones who ultimately had to make the decision. Likewise, _he _was the one who had to make the final decision over how to organize his own life.

Satisfied, Harry had just finished his lunch when there was a squeal from the front door of the shop that meant the wards had engaged. Harry raised his eyebrows and stood up. He might have expected Malfoy to come knocking when the wards were up, or Neville, but they would have both been able to actually knock.

When he looked out through the front door, it was to find a vaguely familiar woman standing on the front step. Harry frowned as he looked at her. He was sure that he had seen her somewhere before, but all he could think of right now was that her sleek blond hair reminded him of Scorpius's.

Then Harry realized who she must be, and sighed. _I hope that I don't have to reconcile Malfoy and his wife or something. There's probably a bloody custom about that, somewhere._

She was drawing her wand at the moment. Harry coughed, and she stopped and stared at him. "I wouldn't do that, Mrs. Malfoy. The wards I put up would throw the curse back with twice the force."

"I went back to Greengrass when I divorced," said Astoria, with a kind of low and thrilling voice that Harry could easily imagine finding attractive, if her face wasn't screwed up like Aunt Petunia smelling magic.

"Okay, then, Ms. Greengrass." Harry shook his head. "What I said is still true. Are you here to order a prank? We're closed for half an hour more."

But he knew he wouldn't be that lucky, and sure enough, Astoria snapped, "No. I came to tell you to stay away from my son."

"Er," said Harry, a bit at a loss. If Astoria had wanted to keep Scorpius away from Harry, or everyone, surely she would have taken custody of him. Or she would have got wind of Harry interacting with Scorpius before now. It wasn't like they'd been hidden interactions, except for the one in Malfoy Manor. "Why?"

"I don't want someone else raising him," said Astoria, and stared at him as if he ought to know what that meant.

Harry gave her a slow, lazy smile. She was irritating him. "If I run into someone who wants to raise him, I'll be sure to pass the message along."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Astoria, and leaned forwards until her nose came dangerously near the wards. Harry thought of flicking the wards just a touch or so farther until they gave her a little blister, but decided that that would be childish. "You're all my son can talk about whenever I visit him. I don't want you settling into his life and then deciding that you're his parent and you can discipline him. You're not."

"I won't ever think I'm his parent. I'm sure I'd remember."

Astoria flushed more deeply than anything had made her do so far, even though Harry thought it was one of his weaker comebacks. "You're _not _to disappoint him. I don't want anything to hurt or disappoint Scorpius. Do you understand me?" She laid her hand pointedly on her wand.

Harry rolled his eyes at her. "Have you considered that forbidding me contact with him would just make him more intrigued with me? Like all the things Dumbledore forbade at Hogwarts that just made some students more determined to do them, like go into the Forbidden Forest." _Fred, _he thought with a flash of his own distress, but kept his face calm. He needed to show Astoria reason, not weakness. "Let him play with me for right now, and talk about me. Sooner or later, he'll grow out of his fascination with me. Probably sooner. I'm not all that interesting close up."

Astoria's flush faded, and she looked at him more closely still. Then she nodded. "Perhaps you're right. But if you're wrong, remember that my son still has _two _parents. Good day, Mr. Potter." And she turned and walked rigidly away from the shop, as though the Diagon Alley cobblestones were too dirty to hold her.

Harry sighed wearily and strengthened the wards. He would have to ask Malfoy if there was some custom for what to do when a friend's ex-wife came to the door and made nonsensical threats.

_Perhaps I can send her a mirror so she can see how ugly she looks when she's despising me._


	9. Gifts Like Sunlight

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Gifts Like Sunlight_

"I suppose you're wondering why it took me so long to come up with a suitable gift for you."

Harry thought his smile surprised Malfoy as he opened his door. This time, Malfoy hadn't told Harry that he was coming to his house. Then again, he must know Harry didn't hang around the shop all the time, and it was pretty early on a Sunday afternoon.

"You're lucky I was awake and making a late breakfast," Harry said, motioning him inside. "If I was asleep, then you could pound all you liked and nothing would wake me up."

"I don't think that's true." Malfoy pinned him with a glance that made it seem like he was practicing to be a hawk. "You were asleep the last time Scorpius and I came here, and we woke you up with our knocking, didn't we?"

"Fine, ruin all my jokes," Harry grumbled, and led him to the dining room table, nodding for him to put the small box he held down on the table. And yes, Harry was curious about the gift, but not enough to let it take over the conversation. "Why isn't Scorpius with you? Didn't you think you'd need his knocking help?"

"I only ruin your jokes because they aren't very good." Malfoy folded his hands primly on the table, beside the box. "Scorpius is at home, visiting with his mother. She comes and sees him now and then. Not nearly as often as I think she should, but I will admit that's it sometimes easier to leave him with her."

"Probably protecting him from bad influences." Harry went back to tending his mixture of different kinds of fruit and bread. It was a kind of salad, but only if you thought of a salad as "pouring a bunch of different foods in a bowl and seeing what happened."

"You think I'm a bad influence on my son?"

It surprised Harry how quickly that made him turn around, how swiftly he instinctively reached a hand out. Malfoy was huddled against the back of his chair, and watching Harry with almost wild eyes.

"No," Harry whispered. His voice came out more breathy than he liked. He took a deep breath and continued. "Never. I could never think that you're a bad influence on your son. There are things that we disagree about, like whether you should have let Scorpius know about Teddy and Andromeda years ago, but you're not a bad influence."

"Then what," said Malfoy, and didn't finish the sentence, because this time, his head came up and his nostrils flared as though he was scenting something. "You. Astoria is worried about the time that you've been spending with Scorpius."

"Got it in one," said Harry wryly, and turned back to chopping up the slices of strawberries very fine. He didn't think he could look directly at Malfoy's face right now. And the panicked flutter in the middle of his stomach when it came to the thought of Malfoy considering himself a bad father…

_It's because he's suffered enough. And I just said something casual and didn't mean to worry him the way I did. I didn't even realize I _could _worry him the way I did. _

All those things were true, but they didn't explain the depth of Harry's own reaction, however much they might explain Malfoy's. He shook his head and kept his hand and his knife moving in smooth motions, chopping up those pieces of fruit. He would have to figure it out later, because Malfoy was there right now, and demanding his attention.

"You realize that it's not your fault if she's paranoid?" Malfoy asked insistently, walking around so he could see Harry's face in more than profile. Harry tried to retain his calmness, but he had the feeling that he wasn't really fooling Malfoy. "She visits Scorpius, but not often. She gave up the chance to raise him on her own or even with more input than she gets. It's not your fault."

"Oh, I know that," said Harry, and smiled at him. "And I told her that trying to forbid Scorpius from talking about me or seeing me was the exact wrong thing to do, because all children like things better when they're forbidden."

"Yes, they do," said Malfoy, and he was looking into the distance in a bleak way that made Harry wonder about the way Lucius had raised _him_.

It wasn't his place to ask, though, and wouldn't be unless they became much better friends than they currently were. Harry laid his knife aside finally, and asked, "Do you want something to eat?"

Malfoy gave a distracted look at the bowl of fruit and salad. "I didn't mean to drop in on you at lunch. I don't want you to feel like you have to feed me."

Harry rolled his eyes and put the bowl of fruit and salad down in the middle of the table. "Yes, that's exactly what I feel like. It's such a chore. _Such _a chore." He laid his hand in the middle of his forehead and struck a dramatic pose.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"What do you fucking think?" Harry turned towards him and spread his hands. "Seriously, Malfoy, I'm not sure how much more open I can make it. You're invited to lunch-breakfast. You showed up not knowing I was making it. I know that's true. I can deal with one more extra mouth."

Malfoy gave an uncertain nod and sat down at the other side of the table. Harry watched him thoughtfully. Malfoy hadn't seemed a tenth this nervous when he'd invited Harry to the Manor for lunch, even given the traumatic memories that Harry had a right to associate with the house and what had happened the last time _Malfoy _had seen Harry there. Maybe just being without Scorpius was a little strange for him.

They ate in silence, and then Malfoy leaned forwards and pushed the small box insistently towards Harry. "Open it, before I lose my nerve," he muttered.

"That doesn't sound good, if it's so terrifying," said Harry, and smiled at Malfoy again. Malfoy didn't smile back this time. Harry rolled his eyes, but only to himself, and examined the box that Malfoy had given him in more detail.

It was small, and Harry had thought it was wrapped in red paper at first, which seemed a rather Gryffindor choice for Malfoy. Then he scolded himself for having such silly ideas. People weren't defined solely by their House in Hogwarts, especially this long after they left school. And the red turned out to be the velvet that covered the box, or that the box was made of, rather than paper.

Harry frowned. Something about the box was familiar, but surely…

He let the thought trail off as he opened the box, which was simply a matter of flipping back a hinged lid. Then the thought came back as he stared at the simple but highly-polished silver ring that sat in a slot in the box's velvet. The ring had no stone, only a complicated tangle of silver vines and flowers on the top.

Harry looked up at Malfoy. Malfoy had burning eyes, but not the kind of burning that Harry would associate with the marriage proposal that this ring looked like. So, instead of snapping, "No," the way he would have to any pure-blood marriage proposal, he turned the box around and studied the ring.

There was a glow of subtle enchantment around it, he realized a second later. It was the sort he had learned to associate with a Portkey—which he had probably learned in the first place because he was so paranoid about accidentally grabbing one since the war.

He finally looked back at Malfoy, and without the temptation to snap that he had felt at first. "This is a Portkey to—where? The Manor?"

Malfoy sighed and sat back. "Yes. It's enchanted like one I wear." He gestured to a silver ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. Harry hadn't paid much attention to it, because he had assumed that of course Malfoy would wear some jewelry, but when he concentrated on it, he could isolate the right kind of aura. "It lets you appear in a small room deep inside the west wing, and sounds an alarm to let me know that someone has come. Of course, most of the time I would come prepared to welcome whoever wore one, not fight them, but it's best to be cautious."

Harry cocked his head. "I'm probably going to regret asking this, because it'll lead me into another wilderness of pure-blood customs and things I would rather not know," he muttered. Malfoy's face never changed. "All right. Why a ring?"

"Because it's one of the only ways to wear a Portkey unobtrusively," said Malfoy. "My father used to use buttons, but I watched him forget to transfer them from robe to robe too often. A watch would work if we had more in the Muggle style." Harry opened his mouth to ask when Malfoy had _seen _watches in the Muggle style, but Malfoy was faster. "A ring is best."

"Yeah," said Harry, after weighing those words for a second and thinking of all the many, many lists of different gifts and nuances they had in those pure-blood books. "Right."

Malfoy blinked. "Have you found a better way to wear a Portkey? I would be interested to hear it."

Harry pointed one finger at him, careful not to touch the ring. He would probably be swearing undying loyalty to the Malfoy family or promising to be Scorpius's godfather if he did that. "I mean that when all these gifts have so many meanings, you wouldn't have given me a ring just because it's a convenient shape. It has anther significance, too, doesn't it?"

In the silence, Malfoy turned pink on every inch of visible skin.

"Look," said Harry, getting up from the table and reaching for their bowls and forks. Malfoy shrank back a little as if he expected to be slapped, but Harry only floated their dishes to the sink and started watching them. "I told you once before. I want to be your friend, but I don't want surprises sprung on me like you did with that mirror and lying about the material it was made of. Am I going to marry you or something if I accept this ring?"

More silence, while Malfoy seemed to struggle with putting pure-blood customs into words. Or maybe just Malfoy indirectness into directness, Harry thought, watching him while he cast the right charms to make the dishes wash themselves. He did seem to have a hard time with speaking the truth straight out.

"The ring doesn't imply marriage," Malfoy whispered finally. "Not by itself, not that particular shape. It has to do with the material it's made of, and what's on it, and the circumstances it's presented in, and the way it's accepted." He shook his head a little and met Harry's eyes. "And a marriage ring always has a stone."

Harry smiled at him. "Thank you."

"What for?" Malfoy looked at him out of the corner of one eye. "For not attempting to marry you against your will? As if I would _do _that."

"I hope that you wouldn't," Harry said, and walked back to the table to pick up the box with the ring. Malfoy watched him as though he didn't know whether to hope or sick up, so Harry made the decision for him, and slid the ring onto his finger. "For my sake, and for yours. You should marry someone who loves you, and someone who would be good for Scorpius. And, of course, I don't want to get married against my will."

"I don't think you would consider yourself married, no matter what happened." That was said with a trace of the old Malfoy sneer, but the effect was a little lessened because Malfoy couldn't stop looking at the ring on Harry's finger.

_This really matters to him, doesn't it? _Harry couldn't begin to guess all the reasons why. But Malfoy was a friend, and until and unless he did something actively harmful—like lying again—Harry would go on thinking of him as a friend. That meant he would do things for him the way he did for other friends.

"No," Harry agreed. "I wouldn't consider myself bound by hoary old customs for _any _reason." He waited, and Malfoy finally stopped staring at the ring and looked him in the eye. "I don't have to live by them, and it doesn't matter what other people think. I'm going to do what I like. And I wouldn't like someone who tried to entrap me."

Malfoy finally gave the barest of nods.

"Now," said Harry, "that we've established this ring doesn't mean something we should both feel lucky to escape, why don't you tell me what it _does _mean? Why did you want to give me a Portkey in the shape of a ring?"

Maybe because he had already gone through the hardest confession first, Malfoy answered a lot more readily this time. "It does represent something exclusive, something special. Something like the friendship I was asking for with the mirror." He stared at Harry as if scrutinizing him for signs of magical or physical exhaustion again. Harry wanted to offer to go get his mirror, which was in the pocket of his cloak, but refrained. "I want to be friends with you in a way no one else is."

Harry offered him a small smile. "Fine. I assume that there are no specific barriers or boundaries to that friendship? We don't have to do certain things? We can still be friends in all sorts of ordinary ways as well as the special ones that this ring implies?"

Malfoy nodded. His gaze had once again dropped to Harry's finger. He looked a bit dazed.

"Then I accept," said Harry. He adjusted the ring for a second, fiddling with it, but it didn't need adjusting; it fit perfectly on his finger. "How did you know that it would fit me? Did you make notes on my ring size or something?" It was rather creepy to imagine Malfoy staring at his hands for that long.

"There's an enchantment on it to find the right size, as well." Malfoy blinked at him. "You don't have that spell on all your clothes?"

Harry shook his head. "Why would I? I still go to Madam Malkin's and have her make my clothes, and she has my measurements. If they change, she has to measure them again like anybody else." He admired the ring, holding it up to the light and watching the soft glow of that light through the aura around it that he could see, now he knew what he was looking for. "I didn't know that spell existed. But it's useful."

"You still go to Madam Malkin's," Malfoy repeated, further dazed.

"Yes," said Harry, and wondered in silent amusement what breach of pure-blood etiquette he had committed this time. Maybe everyone ordered their clothes by some secret owl-post where they read your measurements from your mind via distant Legilimency. "Is there something wrong with that?"

Malfoy snapped back to himself and shook his head. "No. No, of course not." He still watched Harry a bit doubtfully, but nodded to the ring. "Does this mean that you accept the gift and the implied invitation to the Manor that it holds out?"

"The implied _permanent _invitation?" Harry asked, and saw Malfoy nod. "Thank you for confirming that. I suppose I do. The ring is beautiful, and now that I know I'm not going to be trapped into marriage, I can accept it without reservations."

Malfoy's face relaxed, and he smiled.

Harry froze, staring. He had been wondering, in the back of his mind, if a friendship that upset his other friends and was so tricky and difficult—because he might offend Malfoy by his ignorance of the finer points of etiquette, or he might get upset at something Malfoy did—was worth continuing.

It was, when he saw that smile. It was the way that Ron smiled when he was recounting a successful case. It was the way George smiled when he forgot Fred was gone.

And it was directed at Harry, as if he was the source and cause of Malfoy's happiness. Harry's hand unintentionally settled over the ring on his finger, squeezing it, and Malfoy nodded as though he could keep perfect time with the thoughts flying through Harry's head.

"Thanks," Harry said again, and held out his hand, not sure whether he would shake Malfoy's or take his shoulder or what.

Malfoy made the decision for him, standing up and clasping his wrist. "I suppose I should be going," he murmured, head tilted to the side and eyes fastened on Harry's face. "Unless you have further questions about the ring that I can answer?"

"I think you explained it pretty well," Harry said, and glanced at the ring sparkling above Malfoy's wristbone again. "I think it's pretty pretty."

Malfoy gave a soundless laugh, exposing brilliant white teeth in a way that affected Harry even more than his smile earlier had. "Good," he said, and bowed his head so it was halfway between farewell bow and gracious nod. "I'll see you later."

He left, and Harry stood there studying his ring in the sunlight through the windows for a few seconds. Did it promise more than it should? Was he being lured with the promise of the _forbidden?_

_Do you have too much bloody time on your hands?_

Harry decided the answer was yes, and went back to cleaning up the kitchen.


	10. All Relative

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_All Relative_

"Where did you get that ring, Harry?"

"A friend," said Harry, and went on, knowing he hadn't satisfied Andromeda, but also that she would have to rest unsatisfied. "Can I talk to you and Teddy for a second?"

Teddy's chest swelled up. He was just old enough, at ten, to feel like he should be included in adult things. Harry grinned at him as he swept Teddy into the drawing room with them. Andromeda was looking back and forth between the two of them in what seemed like wonder. Harry settled her gently in a chair that was some distance from the fireplace and then turned around and gestured Teddy to sit wherever he wanted. Teddy sat on the hearth, his face so bright that Harry wasn't surprised to see his hair turn Weasley red a few seconds later.

_I just hope he won't be disappointed once he finds out what it really is, _Harry thought, but he didn't think Teddy would. He wasn't in the habit of expecting unrealistic gifts. He turned back to Andromeda and said, "There's a relative of yours who would like to bring his son to meet you."

Andromeda's mouth fell open a little, and then her chin tightened. "Is this about who I think it is, Harry?" she asked, with dangerous quiet.

"That depends on who you think it is," Harry responded, and winked at her.

"Who _is _it?" Teddy had bounced up from the hearth and was standing next to Harry, arms folded as if he could compel an answer that way. "What relatives do we have? Some of Dad's?" He hadn't, as far as Harry knew, had much contact with any Lupin relatives left living, but then, they hadn't had much contact with Remus, either.

"No," said Andromeda softly. "My sister's son. And his son. You _are _talking about that, Harry?" Her hands had curled like claws around the arms of her chair.

"Yes," said Harry, meeting her gaze squarely. "He's at fault, too. He told his son that all his relatives on the Black side were dead. But both of them want to meet you, now. Or at least he's agreed to tell his son that you exist, and see how it goes." There wasn't a doubt in Harry's mind that Scorpius would want to come over the instant he learned about Teddy, but Malfoy would take more convincing.

"I have a cousin?" Teddy interrupted quietly. His hair had turned black, and his eyes almost as deep a color as Snape's. "Who?"

"Draco Malfoy," said Harry, turning to him. "And his son, Scorpius. They're your cousins, yes." He didn't know the exact term for the degree of cousinship between Teddy and Draco—first cousin once removed or something, but he probably had it wrong—but he knew that wouldn't matter to Teddy. "They had some problems with your grandmother, you know. That's why they've never tried to meet you."

Teddy stared up at him. "They're pure-bloods."

Harry nodded. "And Malfoy—I mean, Draco—did used to believe that there was something wrong with someone who had Muggle blood. I don't think Scorpius ever did. He's too young to believe it on his own, and I don't think Draco taught him." It was strange to have Draco's first name in his mouth. After a few seconds, Harry figured out why. Malfoy hadn't invited Harry to call him by his first name, and until he did, it would feel a little like Harry had taken a gift without asking for it. He supposed that he would only use the name when he absolutely had to, to clarify things, until he got that invitation.

Teddy stared at the floor. "I don't want to meet someone who thinks less of me for being Dad and Mum's son," he whispered.

Harry knelt down in front of Teddy. "If I thought he did, then I wouldn't let him come over how no matter how he begged," he said softly. "But I don't think he does. He wants—he wants the best of everything for his son, and if he thought you were inferior, he'd never agree to bring Scorpius over here."

Teddy squinted at him. "So, really, we're depending on him being sincere because he's arrogant?"

Harry laughed in delight. Teddy was _smart, _that was part of the joy of him. "You could say that," he said, and then stood up and clasped Teddy's shoulders. "But I told you, I would never let him near you if I thought he still believed in blood purity. Can you trust me?"

"I'll always trust you," Teddy said, and he leaned forwards and buried his head in Harry's shoulder, admitting something he almost never did anymore, while his hair turned pale yellow. "I'm just scared."

Harry hugged him, and held him patiently until Teddy pulled back. "I really think it'll be all right," he said, and showed Teddy his hand again. "Malfoy gave me this ring. It's a pledge of exclusive friendship. He used to _hate _me. If this ring doesn't show that he's changed, then I don't know what will."

Andromeda cleared her throat softly behind him. Teddy, who knew the sound, scowled a little, but nodded to Harry and said, "Then I want to meet him. And my other cousin," and retreated from the room. Harry turned to face Andromeda.

She was still sitting, but she seemed to have acquired power and presence anyway. Harry blinked a little. He dealt with so many people who were fragile some of the time and needed his support that it was always a shock to be reminded that Andromeda was rarely that way.

"I do not like this," said Andromeda. "I know what that ring means, and that he wants to take you from us."

"If he does, then he lied to me," said Harry evenly. "Because I saw him yesterday and asked about it, and he said that he didn't want to trick me into marrying him or anything like that. He already lied to me once about what a mirror was made of that he gave me. I warned him that I wouldn't consider myself bound by any silly pure-blood customs I don't agree with."

Andromeda's gaze fixed, brooding, on the ring. "By wearing that, you already are."

"What custom's that? That people support bloody purity by wearing rings with vines on them, and a leaf here or there tells you exactly what they believe in?"

Andromeda stared at him. Harry stared back. What did she expect from him? He had told the truth, and if he found out that Malfoy _had _left out information again, he was going to be very upset. But he wasn't going to rip the ring from his finger and run shrieking in horror again, either, unless Andromeda could tell him what she feared.

"An exclusive friendship," she said instead. "A special friendship. One that he wants you to value more than any other."

"He can want me to value it more than my friendships with Ron and Hermione and George and the rest of the Weasleys and you," said Harry calmly. "He can stand there and want it until the world ends. It doesn't mean I will."

Andromeda looked baffled. Harry wondered if she was still pure-blood in some way, if growing up in a house with people who valued pure-blood customs had done something to her brain. As much as he liked Malfoy, he wouldn't be surprised to find out it had done something to his, too.

"But you're wearing the ring," Andromeda said, in the slow voice of someone willing to explore possibilities.

Harry was glad to meet her on that ground. "Yes, but because it was a gift and because I _do _value his friendship. Not because I agree with it if it represents blood purity or marriage. Does it?"

"No. But…" Andromeda still seemed to be lost at sea. Then she pulled herself together, and that aura of power showed up around her again. "Other people will assume that you're in an exclusive friendship with the person who gave it to you."

"Other pure-bloods, you mean?"

Andromeda nodded, and Harry shrugged. "If they act surprised because I'm friends with more than one person at once, I can explain it to them. The same way I would if the _Daily Prophet _reported that I was dating someone when I really wasn't and I wanted to correct their silly gossip."

"There are people who would assume it anyway," Andromeda warned him.

Harry looked her directly in the eye, waited until he was sure she was paying attention, and then gave a massive shrug.

"You don't care about that," Andromeda said, and she sounded a little dazed, a little uncertain. "Even though you would care about correcting the gossip in the _Prophet_."

"I would care about correcting it, but only so that my side of the story was out there," Harry told her. "I know that there are some people who will never believe me, because that's not what they want to believe about me. Likewise, I would tell people who asked about what the ring symbolizes, and if they want to go on thinking that means that I'm betrothed to Malfoy or something, they will. I can't control people's minds. I can only give them the chance to listen to the real story if they'll hear it. And some people will believe me, and not bother me."

"I see what Hermione means about you."

"Oh?" Harry hadn't thought Hermione had visited Andromeda recently, at least not when he wasn't there.

"That you're so resilient that you don't even want to change your behavior to avoid suspicions being thrown at you." Andromeda's gaze swept up and down him as though she expected to see spikes growing out of Harry's body to prick the bubbles of those suspicions. "Perhaps it would be better if the rest of us could be like that, but we aren't."

"No," Harry agreed.

They went on looking at each other for a little while, and then Andromeda sniffed and turned her head aside. "You can bring these Malfoys to my house because Teddy is looking forward to it so much," she said softly. "But if they show the _least _bit of prejudice towards him…"

"Then I'll clear them out," Harry reassured her. "I don't think Scorpius would, but Malfoy is older and might still have some unfortunate beliefs. I don't want him to hurt Teddy, though."

"Of course," said Andromeda.

She was still staring at him as if he was strange. Harry shrugged. He knew she had to bear her own burden of grief, since her daughter and husband had died, and sometimes he thought that she mourned Remus almost as much as he did. If it wasn't that she had to be strong for Teddy, maybe she would have been more like Ron and Hermione.

"Seriously, is there anything about this ring that Malfoy didn't tell me?" Harry turned the ring so that it flashed in the sunlight coming through the window. "I will throw it away if he lied to me. I told him I wouldn't put up with that."

"No, it means an exclusive friendship." But Andromeda's mouth pulled down anyway, and she looked away from him. "I'd appreciate it if you would keep an eye on him the whole time he's here."

"I can do that," Harry agreed easily. He thought about telling her that Malfoy would probably consider it no hardship to have Harry watch him, and then discarded the notion. She would only start interpreting things in a silly way again, ring or no ring.

* * *

Harry had to admit that, concerns about the ring and the prejudices Malfoy might have retained and all, he was glad that he had been there to see Teddy and Scorpius meet. Scorpius came into the house with his head turning back and forth as if he thought his cousin might be hiding behind a wall, and then he stopped and stared when Teddy actually walked into the middle of the drawing room.

Teddy stood staring at him for a moment, too. Then he turned his hair the color of Scorpius's, although he retained the green eyes he currently had, the shade of Harry's.

"You're my cousin Teddy," said Scorpius. He said it with the certainty that had probably been trained into him, but Harry saw the way that his eyes flicked sideways, and he knew Teddy could destroy that budding confidence with a word.

Teddy obviously saw no reason to. He nodded. "And you're my cousin Scorpius." He looked Scorpius over critically. "You're a lot smaller than I thought you'd be."

Scorpius bristled at that, but he said, "I am unusually tall for my age." He sounded like an adult for a second, until he added, "Daddy said so," and glanced over his shoulder at Malfoy.

Malfoy, who stood next to Harry, shivered out a breath. Then he said, "That's true, Scorpius. It's one of the things that's true about you, although it might not always be true."

He switched his gaze to Teddy. Harry found himself tensing despite the ring and Malfoy's sincerity and all his reassurances to Andromeda. If he had prejudices remaining, they would come out here, against Teddy, descendent of a Muggleborn and a werewolf. From the way that Teddy stared straight back at Malfoy, undaunted, he knew it, too.

But Malfoy merely said, "I'm sorry that I never brought Scorpius to meet you before, Theodore. It was a mistake on my part."

"I prefer Teddy," said Teddy, and studied Malfoy some more. Then he turned to Scorpius. "You're small enough to sit on this dragon of mine that I kept when I got too big for it. Do you want to?"

"A _real _dragon?" Scorpius looked awed, turning around as if he wondered how a dragon fit into the relatively small rooms of Andromeda's house.

"No, a toy," said Teddy, but he seemed amused now, and his eyes changed to match Scorpius's. Harry heard Andromeda make a small sound. He wondered if it was because Teddy looked like a Malfoy, or because he looked like Narcissa. "Come on, I'll show you. You can ride it. I'm too big now, unless Uncle Harry casts a Lightening Charm." He turned to Harry.

"You could cast it yourself if you would practice with your grandmother's wand," Harry said mildly, but he relented when Teddy crossed his eyes, and cast the charm on him. "All right. Now go show Scorpius your dragon."

They tore away together, although Teddy ran much faster than Scorpius and he had to pause near the far door to let Scorpius catch up. Teddy looked at Harry and smiled, nodding and mouthing, "He's all right," before he and Scorpius vanished.

That left Malfoy and Andromeda to look at each other. Harry thought about stepping between them and waving his arms to cut off their heated gaze, but he had known this would be awkward. Anyway, he wasn't sure who he wanted to protect more.

"Nephew," said Andromeda at last, her mouth pursed as if she thought Malfoy would reject even that label.

Malfoy slowly inclined his head. "Aunt."

Harry blinked. He didn't think Andromeda, still so focused on Malfoy's face and whatever ghosts she saw there, had noticed, but Malfoy had reached out and clutched his hand, down at waist level. He was rubbing his finger feverishly back and forth over the ring that Harry wore.

After a moment of waiting for a genie to materialize or something, Harry decided that it probably was just a gesture to reassure himself. He turned his hand a little so that Malfoy lost hold of the ring. Malfoy's fingers tensed as though he was going to snatch his hand back, but instead Harry clasped his wrist, and intertwined their fingers.

Malfoy relaxed with a sudden blast of air from his lungs. Andromeda raised her eyebrows, but didn't seem inclined to look for what had suddenly made him less nervous.

"Well," said Andromeda. "The kind of conversation we can make standing here and waiting for the children to return is limited. Will you not come into the parlor to wait for them?" She hesitated, then added, "And perhaps have some tea?"

Malfoy nodded, as if he had just remembered that he was the one who had made the decision to seek Andromeda and Teddy out after so long. "I would like that," he said, and followed Andromeda at a sedate pace. Harry started to part their hands, sure that Malfoy had recovered his natural arrogance and wouldn't need his support anymore.

Malfoy halted near the hearth, at the length of their arms, and looked back at him.

Harry relented and came up to walk beside him. When he did, Malfoy once again took the opportunity to rub his ring.

"That doesn't cause me to fall in love with you mysteriously or something?" Harry whispered to him.

Malfoy stumbled, and Harry narrowed his eyes. But Malfoy only gasped, in a faint voice that made Harry suspect he was trying to hold back laughter, "No, no. It—it only means the friendship I told you about."

Then he lifted his head, and his eyes burned into Harry's.

"But that you chose to wear it, even here, means more to _me _than you can imagine."

And he strode on his way, Harry's hand clasped firmly in his. Harry followed, blinking, and trying to decide how he felt about it.

Pleased, he decided at last.

_As long as there's not really a genie or a love spell._


	11. Long Talks

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Long Talks_

"You talk like a sensible wizard, nephew."

Andromeda said it reluctantly. Harry could tell from the way that she immediately buried her nose in a teacup afterwards, as if she was afraid that Malfoy would start demanding compliments from her.

But Malfoy inclined his head with surprising humility. "Thank you, aunt. I hope that's one of the ways we can bring ourselves to reconcile, if we are alike."

Andromeda fanned herself with the edge of her sleeve. Harry grinned, and made sure he was hiding his grin behind his own teacup. That was the way Andromeda reacted when she didn't want to show that she was affected. Harry had been with her one time when they'd met up with Celestina Warbeck in the middle of Diagon Alley, and she'd done the exact same thing.

"Perhaps we can call each other by our names, as well?" Andromeda made the offer gingerly, as if she was stepping off a cliff into a crashing ocean. "Not just aunt and nephew."

"I thought we each needed the reminder of our relationship." Malfoy leaned forwards. He had taken one of the many neat chairs in Andromeda's sitting room, all shades of green and blue and gold, which Andromeda rearranged at different times into different patterns depending on what she was feeling. Right now, he was facing Andromeda, and Harry sat on a couch parallel to both their chairs. "But now, we've seen that we don't disagree fundamentally on politics or Muggles or the right way to raise children. So we can call each other by name."

Andromeda hesitated one more time, then nodded. "Perhaps you can even call me Aunt Andromeda," she added, offering what Harry knew was a huge concession for her.

Harry caught his breath, and held it. _Please, Malfoy, don't screw this up._

Malfoy didn't seem inclined to. He had a grave expression on his face, as if he was listening to instructions from a piece of him that was more sensible than he often was. Then he bowed. "That's fine, Aunt Andromeda. You can call me Draco or Malfoy, just as you choose."

He turned his head to look at Harry just when Harry was mentally admiring his acumen. "But I don't feel right not extending the invitation to everyone in the room. Can you call me Draco, as well?"

Harry smiled a little, feeling as though a warm pulse traveled through both the middle of his chest and his finger, under the ring. "That's fine. Call me Harry if you want to, or Potter. It feels almost homey when you say it."

"Familiar, perhaps," said Draco, his hand tightening for one second around his teacup. "I don't believe that our rivalry at Hogwarts ever felt much like home to either of us."

Harry grinned and shrugged a little. "Well, I had a kind of rivalry with my cousin, if only because he did things that hurt me and I tried to get him back. So that was familiar. Probably why I got the better of you so many times. You weren't used to having to compete with anyone for attention, so you weren't as good at it."

Draco's face had tightened to what Harry thought was snapping point. Harry maintained his bland, pleasant expression, and watched Draco's face and hands all the while. This was something they would have to get past. They couldn't pretend that the past didn't exist. Not forever.

Maybe it was just because Harry lived in constant contact with the past and the scars it had inflicted that made him say that, but still.

Draco finally let out all the air that had accumulated in his lungs during the past minute in one long rush, and nodded. "What you're saying has a deal of truth." He turned back to Andromeda. "But you were going to explain your reasons for not thinking Shacklebolt will be elected Minister again. It's true that he made some mistakes right after the war, but he's grown and learned since then, and I think he's mounted a strong campaign."

Andromeda answered with glowing cheeks. Harry leaned back and let his mind wander again. He didn't care about politics except if it affected him, like someone trying to propose him for yet another honor, or if Hermione brought up the ways that it related to house-elves.

It was good that Teddy would get to know his cousin, and it was good that Andromeda had someone to talk politics with, and it was good that Draco had granted Harry permission to call him by his first name. Yet, Harry thought there was a constraint and formality in Draco's manner that hadn't been there before.

_Sorry. _But it was true that Harry couldn't keep away from the past forever. He would make a casual reference sometime, at least if their friendship continued at all, and he didn't know whether it would make Draco stiffen up or ignore it or explode. Better to find out in a relatively neutral setting like Andromeda's house, and change it later if there was a problem.

* * *

"That was unexpected."

Harry turned around. Draco had finally said he and Scorpius should be leaving, and Harry had volunteered to go and get the boys so Draco could enjoy some time alone with Andromeda. But Draco had said he would come instead.

"What? That you got along with your aunt when you've ignored each other for years?" Harry asked, obligingly slowing his trot up the great staircase so Draco could catch up.

"That you would refer to our rivalry like that, out of the blue." Draco turned his head, his eyes so wide and complicated that Harry was astonished to see the pain in them. "Did you mean to hurt me, or what?"

"I wanted to see what you would do," Harry said. He did soften his voice and reach out to put his hand on Draco's shoulder. "I can't avoid speaking about the past all the time, with the hurts my friends have suffered and what they've asked me to take care of, and the troubles they bring me. I wanted to know how you would react to hearing about it sooner rather than later."

Draco tensed as though Harry had tried to hurt him, nostrils flaring. "I would _never _ask you to take care of me the way you take care of your friends," he said, and moved away with his muscles strung so tight that Harry thought he would start prancing at any second. "Because I don't need your sacrifices."

Harry didn't feel like arguing about whether or not his friends did expect sacrifices of him, so he simply said, "What about my gifts?"

Draco looked at him sideways. "Those aren't the same things."

Harry grinned at him and kept climbing. Draco followed behind him, muttering under his breath. That was all right with Harry. He could do a lot of things, and Harry had lines drawn for what he would and wouldn't accept, the same way he did with his other friends. Muttering was acceptable.

As they got near Teddy's room, Harry heard the intense, low sound of Teddy talking. He smiled. Teddy had a few friends at the local wizarding primary school, but not many close ones, and he would delight in showing off one of his games to a new playmate.

"…so this means that you have to go around the board twice before you can attack the dragon's hoard. And if someone else comes up and lands on the space that you were on in _their _next trip round the board, then they can challenge you to a duel."

"But why?" asked Scorpius. "I don't understand that. Why's it a duel?"

Teddy started to explain, but Harry tuned the explanation out. Frankly, trying to remember all the variations on the rules that Teddy came up with for what used to be a perfectly simple game of Circle the Mountain would burn up his brain. He did glance back at Draco before he knocked on Teddy's door, to see how Draco was taking this.

Draco had his eyebrows raised, but he smoothed them down again when he saw Harry looking, as if he thought that Harry would disapprove of him showing surprise at anything Teddy did. Harry grinned and shook his head.

"Teddy makes up so many of his own games that the ordinary toys don't satisfy him," he said, the second before Teddy ran out of the room and started talking.

"Scorpius has never played Circle the Mountain," he announced, as if that was the most important information he had ever told Harry, and shook his head sadly. "He didn't know about the dueling rules or the rules for when you can get gold and when you can get gems, or _anything_."

"The majority of people who play the game don't know about those rules, either," Harry pointed out dryly. He knew that Teddy had had at least a few arguments with his friends over what those rules were, to the point where some of their mums had contacted Andromeda and asked that their sons play _anything else _when they were over at Andromeda's house.

"Well, they should." Teddy was unruffled. "It's a lot more fun to play it that way than just use the stupid rules that come with the box!"

"It's fun," said Scorpius, and came out, and slipped his hand into Draco's. He was looking at Teddy with unrestrained admiration, in a way that made Harry's shoulders lose the last bit of tension. If Draco did have some prejudices remaining against Teddy, there was no way that he would succeed in imparting them to Scorpius. "I never played a game like that before. When can I play it again?"

"When we visit here the next time," Draco started, in a voice that Harry thought was probably meant to reassure Scorpius and Teddy that there would be a next time.

_And maybe me, too. _One of Draco's eyes was fastened on him, if you looked at him carefully.

"But why can't I come over to the Manor, too, and bring the Circle the Mountain game along?" Teddy demanded. "Then Scorpius can show me all the things at _your _house that he talked about!"

Draco blinked. Harry smiled. "That's certainly all right with me," he said. "And I think it would be all right with your grandmother, too."

Then he turned and waited to see if it was all right with the one person they might expect to oppose it, a bit.

Draco's free hand tightened on air. He wasn't clenching Scorpius's hand at all, Harry noticed. Well. That was good. It increased his sense that Draco was a father before he was anything else.

Not that Harry minded. He wasn't as close to Scorpius as he was to Rose—it wasn't like he'd been there to see _him _being born—but he could certainly accept a cute kid as part of the friendship. Especially a kid like Scorpius, and a friendship like the one he might have with Draco.

A moment later, Draco nodded, and even his free hand loosened and relaxed. "I think so. It will be a pleasure to see you there, Teddy." He inclined his head to Teddy, then to Harry. "I assume that you will be escorting him, rather than his grandmother? Certain—associations—might be too much for her."

_You don't really think that, you just want to see me more than you want to see her, and this is a convenient excuse, _Harry thought in amusement, but he nodded as solemnly as if he hadn't figured out Draco's little plan to get them all to the Manor together. "Of course. Should we say sometime next week?"

Draco's smile was small but triumphant as they worked out a day and time, subject to Andromeda's approval. Harry couldn't do anything but smile back. Even though Draco had to know Harry at least suspected what he had done, he was so _cute _when he acted as though he'd got away with something.

* * *

"That ring is new."

Harry blinked up at George. He'd spent most of the morning with his nose buried in a book, trying to figure out why their latest trick—powder that made it look as though the door to a room had vanished—wasn't working. The magical theory was straightforward enough, and surely Muggles could manage the same thing with paint, so it must not be—

"_Harry_."

Harry laid the book down and stretched out his hand so that George could see the ring. "Yeah, it is. It's another gift from Draco. Along with permission to call him by his first name," he added, when George's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in what looked like protest.

George shut his mouth on the protest a second later, thank Merlin. He looked away from Harry, and the muscle in his cheek jumped. Then he said, "I really wish that you would _give this up_."

"Give what up?" Harry picked up his book again.

"This attempt to have a _friendship _with him. As if a person like him knows what friendship is."

"I don't think that he has the same notions I do of it," Harry said. "He relates to me through pure-blood customs, and he gets all flustered when he realizes I don't understand exactly what those mean. But if it's a different kind of friendship, it's one that I feel like learning more about."

"Why?"

"Because I realized that my life isn't full enough," Harry said softly. "That a lot of my friendships are of the same type, and that I'd like some others, too."

George flinched as if Harry had struck him, and then turned away and marched mechanically to the shelves on the other side of the room, restlessly picking up an old Skiving Snackbox. Harry knew it was of a kind that Fred had been working on perfecting when he died. George never altered it, but he did fiddle with it when he was feeling upset.

"I'm sorry that I didn't make a perfect recovery," George whispered, staring intently at the box. "I'm sorry that I still miss my twin."

"That isn't the point," said Harry. "Don't you think I would have done something _else _by now if I couldn't stand you missing Fred? I know that you miss Fred. It doesn't make me wish you were different. It's just something else about you, like having red hair and freckles. And Hermione has nightmares, and Ron suffers from grief, and so does your mum. Those are just part of you."

George paused and looked uncertainly back at him. "And Malfoy doesn't have that kind of past?"

Harry snorted. "Hardly. Sometimes I think that I can hear everything he's carrying clank when he walks into the room."

"Then what's the same between me and all your other friends?" George hesitated, as though he didn't really want to ask the question, then added, "And what's different about _him_?"

"What's different about him," said Harry, as gently as he could, "is that he wants to change things and move forwards. And you don't."

Sure enough, that made George stiffen up all over again. Harry really thought he would crush the Skiving Snackbox, the way he was worrying it. Harry didn't go over there and try to rescue it, though. That would be a bad idea right now.

"I'm sorry that I miss my twin and I'm not your perfect new friend," George whispered. "I think I told you that already."

"I know what happened when you tried to move forwards," said Harry. "I wish you wouldn't think that I blame you for it."

"It's hard to do that when it sounds as though you _do _blame me for it."

Harry sighed and stood up and walked over this time. George put the Snackbox down and hunched there. Harry shook his shoulders a little. "I told you, it's okay. It was hard for you to find help. Some people tricked you deliberately. Some people lied to you, and other people just thought they could help and it turned out they couldn't. So it wasn't your fault."

"But you think that Malfoy is stronger than me." George's eyes flashed.

"More resilient," Harry said. "The same word that you and Ron and Hermione apply to me and don't bat an eyelash about."

George flushed slowly, the kind of flush that crept up his neck and his face and even under his hair, although Harry admittedly couldn't distinguish it from the hair at that point. "I don't want to apply it to someone like Malfoy."

"Then don't," said Harry, and let him go, and stood back. "There's no reason that you need to talk about him or ever see him again. I'll tell him and Scorpius not to come to the shop." He held his hand up. "But then, don't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to."

"What's so bloody _appealing _about him?"

"I told you already."

That ended with George stomping heavily into the back room. Harry sighed and sat down on the chair he'd already taken, reaching for his book and shaking his head.

He meant what he had said. He didn't want to force his friends to change. He didn't think they were very happy, but trying to change that had hurt them—mostly as the result of people who didn't even think about whether the war heroes were happy or not, they just wanted to gape at those war heroes or gossip about them or touch them or take out their resentments on them. So Harry was content to support his friends in the life they had chosen to lead. They had done enough.

But Draco had chosen a different route, and Harry thought that he might want to bear him company on the road.

_That could change tomorrow. It could turn out that he's still prejudiced or trying to trick me into something I don't want._

Harry shrugged. And until that happened, he would go with Draco. He liked him, he liked Scorpius, and he wanted to see what happened next.

_I don't know why that's so hard to understand, _he thought wistfully, and returned to the book, which really _did _contain things that were hard to understand.


	12. The Wider World

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_The Wider World_

The attack happened the way such attacks usually did. One minute, Harry was walking down the middle of Diagon Alley, minding his own business. He was trying to juggle a new purchase from Madam Malkin's and an ice cream cone, and not doing a very good job of either. Then again, robes could always be cleaned. Melted ice cream couldn't be brought back and poured into his mouth again.

The next minute—the next _second_—the air around him blazed with white lightning that tried to earth itself in his chest.

Harry dropped to his knees and lifted two sets of Shield Charms around him as fast as he could think them. One protected him, curled in on his crouching form. The other spread around the center of the alley, a huge, shimmering dome, guarding the innocent wizards and witches who walked there from the attacker.

That taken care of, Harry turned to find out who it was this time.

It was a tall wizard in a purple cloak, was who it was, and when he cast another curse, Harry caught a glimpse of the rearing serpent that fastened his cloak shut. It looked like it was made of pure emerald, too. Harry sighed in disgust. Yet another of those Risen Cobras. They thought they were the Death Eaters all over again.

Most of them were saner than Bellatrix Lestrange, but had less sense than she'd had. Which was _not _a recommendation.

Harry stood. The Risen Cobra promptly started dancing in place, pointing his wand proudly at Harry. All of them did that when they thought they had managed to "trick" him into a duel.

Harry flicked his wand at the ground. It was the only sort of spell he could cast when he was inside the protection of his Shield Charms, because they would prevent any spell from flying out from the inside as surely as they would prevent them coming from the outside.

But it was enough. The cobblestones beneath the Cobra's feet ripped apart, rippled apart, and then the whole section of the street where he stood shuddered, tossing him to the ground. His wand flew out of his hand.

Harry cast the Summoning Charm that brought the wand flying towards him until it hit his shields with a little tinkling sound and rolled on the stones. Then he canceled the shields and stepped out, putting one foot on the wand.

The Cobra was on his feet now, gaping. Of course, without his wand, he couldn't even Apparate away. He looked back and forth between Harry's boot and his face as though that would change the situation somehow. Harry could see his face under the heavy hood as it fell back, and noted that he was very young. He probably imagined that excused him somehow.

As far as Harry was concerned, it didn't. He wouldn't kill the little bastard, or even break his wand, but sometimes children needed to be punished.

He cast another spell that made the street shudder a second time, rising up like that snake they were so proud to wear, and again the Risen Cobra crashed into the ground, flailing his arms. Harry cast a spell that plowed up the stones in an arrow-shaped wedge that aimed straight between his spread legs. The Cobra squeaked and tried to stand, to run, but the street leaped and danced, and kept him where he was.

At the last moment, the Shattering Curse stopped an inch or so short of his groin.

Harry snickered at the expression on the idiot's face, and then turned around and nodded as he heard the cracks of the arriving Aurors. Two of them leaped forwards, and then stopped when they saw no casualties. The nearest one, Dawlish, approached Harry, shaking his head in a way Harry knew well.

"And you left the training for the Corps because?" Dawlish demanded, even as he cast the spells that tied up the Cobra and ensured that he wouldn't be going anywhere for a while. Harry flicked his foot, and sent the idiot's wand flying into the grasp of another Auror, who looked startled for a second, and then grinned.

"I was bored," said Harry, and rolled his eyes at the look that got him. "And my friends needed me."

The Aurors had finally taken down the shields that protected the crowd, and chattering people tried to press forwards. Harry frowned at them. Most of the time, they were content to ignore him; he had finally convinced the ordinary shopkeepers and others who spent a lot of time here that he was a normal wizard, one who helped George run the shop and didn't need or deserve any special consideration. Now they would gossip about him and look for some evidence of "differences" for Merlin knew how long.

"That, I can understand," said Dawlish, his voice softening. "But—won't you let us do _something _for you?"

"I already have two Orders of Merlin, First Class," said Harry. One of them had been for the war, and another for that nasty little business that had seen him swimming a good part of the Channel at night. "But this time, there's something you could do."

Dawlish perked up at once. "What?"

Harry looked at the small, sad spot of color in the middle of the stones where he had been crouching. "Buy me some more ice cream? I think that one's pretty much ruined."

* * *

Harry was peacefully eating his dinner when he heard his Floo chime. Harry sighed and dropped his fork on the plate, contemplating not answering at all. If it was another stupid _Prophet _reporter who wanted to talk about his "undoubted heroism"…

But it might be one of his friends, and Harry made his way to the fireplace half-rehearsing answers in his head about how anyone would have done that, if they had the ability, and half-ready to reassure them that he was fine.

"Do you _always _have to risk your life?"

Harry blinked at the way Draco's face appeared in the fireplace. "Hello to you, too. And no, I suppose I don't have to. I _suppose _that I could have just stood there and let him kill me."

Draco flushed; Harry was sure of that, even though it was often hard to tell with the green state of the flames in a Floo call. Then again, he was already familiar with a lot of the little ways that Draco's face changed and tightened. "I didn't mean that. I meant—were you annoying anyone when he attacked?"

"I was walking down the middle of Diagon Alley eating ice cream and carrying a robe from Madam Malkin's. Don't worry, though. The Aurors got me some new ice cream."

"You're _ridiculous_," Draco said, and his eyelids closed as though heavy weights were attached to them. "I kept the paper from Scorpius. I didn't want him to see the pictures and worry."

"What pictures?" Harry knew that no reporters had got there until he was safely back inside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

"The pictures of the Cobra who attacked you, and the Aurors holding him," said Draco grimly. "The story talked about how close he had come."

Harry rolled his eyes. "And how likely do you think _that _is? Compared to the likelihood of the papers exaggerating so they'll have a good story?"

Draco hesitated.

"Exactly," Harry said, with a nod. "He did catch me by surprise, but I set up Shield Charms around me and other people before he could hurt anyone. Then I used a spell in the street to knock him down, and another one to take his wand. Then I had a little fun teasing him before the Aurors showed up and took him into custody. That's all that happened. The most upsetting thing was my ice cream getting ruined."

Draco held his hand to his forehead. It was trembling in a strange way. Harry kindly didn't comment on it, and waited for Draco to either recover himself or tell Harry what the real purpose of his Floo call was. Because if it was just to yell at Harry for something Harry couldn't help and hadn't asked for, he was going to end it and go back to his neglected dinner.

"I was worried," Draco whispered, as if he had heard Harry's thought and wanted to make sure that Harry didn't shut down the Floo. "That was all. When I heard—when I read—" He opened his eyes. "They said you were all right, but they also said that you'd come close to death."

"Both things can't really be true at once," Harry said, sighing. "The _Prophet _likes to sell newspapers, and thus they insist on setting up stories that manage to twist the truth. I suppose that you could say I came close to death because the attacker _could _have wounded me if I wasn't a good fighter. But I am. I was more worried about the people around me, honestly. There were a lot of children there."

Draco went on looking at him, but his face had softened and changed again. Then he asked, "Why didn't you call me when you got home?"

"Because I was hungry?" Harry asked, wondering what the hell was going on now. "It was kind of a full day."

"The shop, then, or wherever you were." Draco flapped a hand that dismissed the exact location as unimportant. His gaze never left Harry's face. Harry thought he could stick out his tongue and Draco would do no more than blink. "Didn't you think I would want to know?"

"Know about _what_? I think we established that the newspaper was exaggerating and I didn't really almost die the way they tried to imply I did."

Draco swallowed back something that was probably part of an indignant gasp. "Know about the attack."

"No," said Harry blankly. "Why? I mean, I told George about it, but that was only because he was there and he wanted to know why I was all rumpled. I didn't firecall Ron and Hermione. Why?"

Draco just looked at him, and although Harry knew the expression on his face had changed again, this one wasn't one he was already familiar with. He tried to maintain his calmness, but the way Draco stared at him was really getting on his nerves.

"Didn't you think I would want to know?" Draco finally whispered again, and Harry also knew the question had an inflection it hadn't had before.

He still didn't know how to respond. He held out his hands helplessly. "What do you want me to _say, _Draco? This is my life, the way it is. People have been trying to kill me since I was a baby. It's a shitty way to approach me, I agree. I would rather they came and sued me or spread nasty rumors about me or whatever the accepted way is of dealing with people that you don't like. But there's not much that I can do about it." He paused, then added, "If you're going to be friends with me, then you have to accept that that's just the way it is. People will try to kill me sometimes. If you can't stand that, then don't be friends with me."

Silence, while Draco worked his hands in something invisible to Harry from his perspective outside the Floo. He wondered what he would do if Draco turned around and flung those words back in his face. Harry's finger seemed to burn beneath the ring, and he rubbed it without thinking.

Draco's eyes shifted to the ring, then rose to Harry's face. He gave a shrug that was probably supposed to be casual, and didn't really come across that way. "I just want to know," he whispered, "when my friends are facing danger."

"Even if it would upset you?" Harry pushed on when Draco hesitated. "Because you're really the one who seems upset, more than Scorpius would get. Scorpius would probably enjoy hearing how I fought him."

Draco's lips thinned. "You're right about that," he agreed, in a way that made Harry snort again. It seemed to promise no agreement with Scorpius's taste. "But—yes, I would like to know. If this is the way that some people choose to approach you, then I want to know so I can offer you the protection of the Manor's wards, at least."

Harry smiled. "I appreciate the thought, but I couldn't just stay in the Manor all the time."

"Why not? _I _would, or at least go out with a house-elf ready to attend and protect me, if I had half the enemies you do." Draco stared at him again. "Don't your friends make any attempt to defend you?"

"Ron does, when he's there as someone attacks. He's a fully-trained Auror, and I'm not. He's saved my life more than once."

That seemed to confound Draco, and he paused again. Harry waited. He had the sense that this was something important, despite how much it seemed to rely on Draco's stubborn unwillingness to comprehend basic facts, and so he would let Draco think it through and state the conclusions that he obviously needed to.

"How can you live like that?" Draco asked finally. "I would spend every day in fear, even if I did have the wards and the house-elves to protect me."

"You get used to it," Harry said. "Remember back to that horrible year you survived? You got used to it, a little, didn't you? There comes a time when certain emotions just get numb. Like terror. You survive."

Draco dropped his eyes. "No one else has _ever _understood that."

"Well," said Harry, and he knew his voice was soft and he was leaning forwards with one hand out to the fire, as though Draco was a timid wild animal he wanted to coax into the open, but he didn't think those things were sins, however strangely they _did _make Draco look at him. "I do. We didn't go through the exact same things, but we went through some damn similar things. And I could see through _his _eyes, sometimes. I saw some of what you suffered, and how much you didn't want to do it."

"You mean, I don't need to—say it?"

"Talk about what happened during the war?" Harry asked. "Or apologize for it? No, neither one, not if you don't want to."

"You're so restful," Draco said, voice so low that Harry only realized what he was saying after a moment of concentration. "But when do you get to rest? What happens if you want to talk about something that happened to _you_, and your friends don't want to hear it?"

"I could always tell my story to the papers and get an audience that way," Harry said, and laughed when Draco's eyebrows flickered up. "No, you're right, I wouldn't do that. But they'll listen, if I want to talk." He hesitated, then decided he might as well take the risk. What would happen, if he was rejected? Nothing but a little pain. "Just like I have the feeling you would."

"I would do more than listen."

"But what else is there?" Harry asked, and shook his head when Draco glared at him. "No, I'm not being disingenuous. You can't change time, and the wounds are healed as much as they will be. What can you do?"

Draco was silent for a while, one hand clasping open and shut. Then he said, "I can also talk about them and ask you questions about them."

"Well," said Harry slowly. He didn't see much point in hashing out his issues with his old friends, who understood them all already as intimately as Harry understood their own griefs and nightmares, but there might be something attractive in talking about them with Draco. "Maybe. At least once."

"Not more than that?"

Harry rolled his eyes at that, a little. "Is this one of the ways that you want our friendship to be special and exclusive?"

"It could be." Draco's face had gone still and quiet.

Harry reached out one hand before he remembered that Draco was on the other side of a fire and he couldn't cuff him. "I didn't mean that I would never want to discuss things like this with you, you berk. And I don't mean that I never want to discuss them with someone. It's just, well, that's the way things are. And my friends and I have talked about them all already."

"I could at least give you a new audience."

"I think it's going to be more than that," said Harry, looking into his face, "even if one of us wanted to plan to limit it."

Draco turned his eyes away for a second. Then he said, "What—what if, during the visit that you and Teddy make to the Manor, you and I go off and talk about the attack today?"

"I thought I already told you all the details."

"Somehow, you managed not to focus very much on how you _felt_."

Harry considered that, and nodded finally. "It's not that I don't want to discuss it," he had to add again, when he saw the glow of triumph on Draco's face. He didn't want Draco to think all his friends were selfish and neglectful. "It's just that my friends know everything already."

"If I'm to be a friend, then I should, as well."

"Can you return the favor with complete honesty?" Harry asked. "I know I said you didn't have to, and you don't, but I want to know what I should ask."

Draco paused. "That's something I'll have to think about, and decide what I might want to discuss, and what I don't," he said at last.

"Fair enough," said Harry. Draco lingered by the fireplace for a second, and Harry added, gently, "I really am fine, you know. Dawlish was one of the Aurors there. He's always concerned about me, and he would have made me go to St. Mungo's if I was wounded."

Draco sniffed. "At least someone among your friends has common sense."

Then he vanished from the fire in that abrupt way he seemed to favor, and Harry went to finish his dinner. He did have to cast a few Warming Charms on it, but he didn't mind that. The pleasant glow of well-being in his stomach made up for the loss of any heat to the food.


End file.
